Fearsome Loyalty
by cdewinter78
Summary: Whilst visiting Pastor Jim in Boxborough Massachusetts, Dean is hit by an uncomfortable sense of Deja-vu, whilst Sam has the uncomfortable feeling that the Pastor may be hiding something. Warning -contains OC Physical Child-abuse - not graphically written
1. Chapter 1

**A/N; ****I would ask anyone who missed it, to go back and read the warning on the story notes, it is not my intention to catch anyone unawares. **

**This story is set post Hell House but Pre Dead Man's Blood and is just something I wanted to take out for a ride. I love the 'fallen' hunters in series one and find the Winchesters young life a tantalizing, half told story. How did they become who they are? Especially Dean - how much must he have seen at way too young an age to be so far removed from himself? Anyway, that is what is rattling round in my head - have a vague direction where I am heading but no map, so the journey will be a surprise for me also... please keep checking Chapter notes, just in case. Thanks.**

_**Fearsome Loyalty**_**CHAPTER ONE;**

_**Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you. – Ruth v: 1 l: 16**_

**Sunlight always suited churches, especially those with stained glass like Boxborough Memorial Church, Massachusetts. The way the light slotted through the window crevices highlighting faded tapestry cushions, scattered randomly on the rich, well worn, wooden pews; was a majestic piece of natural beauty. Golden beams wandered waywardly in straight lines, with just enough magic to hold the spell that allowed your thoughts to wander without subjecting them to the full harsh light of day. The smell of polish and flowers was intoxicating to most; with a few exceptions. Jim Murphy knew that he was given to poetic flights of fancy, but the young man on the alter step before him, appeared to require more than verbal bolstering to ease his nerves. The Pastor tried hard to conceal the out of place devilish grin that seeped across his face. Sunlight, on the man before him, only served to make the perspiration stand out on his face and upper lip. The 'incense' of polish and flowers only seemed to irritate his sinuses; as his nose was permanently scrunched up, in a distasteful grimace.**

**A less well informed clergyman may have assumed that the occasional feverant whisper that emanated from the young man at the alter, was perhaps a rehearsal of his vows, or a special prayer. Jim knew better. The whispers were more like angry, steam venting curses. He was under no illusion that a few were headed his way, however the majority were directed down the aisle, at the slow procession of a six foot two inch man with dark hair that fell into his eyes every time he tried to offer the four foot nine blond, on his arm an encouraging smile. The most striking thing about the couple was not that one was built like a Redwood whilst the other favored a shrub; it was the tortuously slow pace they moved at due to the thick leg cast the woman wore. She tried to keep smiling at her companion as she used him as a Zimmer frame. For his part he obliged as best he could, especially when her none too dainty cast came down heavily on his foot a few times. The tall man kept switching his gaze between the struggling bride to be, and the agitated man at the alter, to whom he offered a tight "Be**_** patient… play nice"**_** look.**

**Jim watched as the short cropped, blond haired man, swiveled back round towards him, and his jade green eyes grew suspicious when they caught a partial smirk the Pastor was too slow to cover. The impatient man's well chiseled features drew into a fierce frown, that signaled he was about two heartbeats away from storming down the isle, hoisting the bride like a mainsail and floating her the rest of the way to the alter across his shoulders. At this point Murphy did relent a little – he made eye contact with the young man before him and stepped nearer to him in a confidential manner.**

"**Easy Dean, it's nearly over, and Meredith is doing the best she can."**

**Dean cut a look at the Pastor that made him fully aware of Dean's opinions of Meredith's best efforts, but he stayed put. Jim couldn't help smiling fondly at the young man he had helped to raise.**

**He added an obliging "Thank you son – God knows this couple is going to need all the help they can get!"**

**Dean snorted and whispered loudly; "Yeah Jim speaking of the couple in question – isn't the groom supposed to be getting all this premarital exercise? When you said you needed help with a ceremony, we thought…"**

**Jim kept his eyes trained on the bride, like a lighthouse beacon to a flailing ship and whilst barely moving his lips, he addressed Dean softly.**

"**Davis is a doctor and is currently across town handling a difficult delivery. Besides, what did you think I meant by ceremony? Consecrating silver rounds, decommissioning a black alter or maybe an exorcism? Come on Dean, Pastor first, hunter second remember?!"**

**Dean made a scoffing noise that slightly breached the minimum sound barrier and forced the stand-in groom to turn around and throw the hobbling bride a lopsided cheery smile, before turning his disbelieving gaze back to Murphy.**

"**Jim, your life is more complicated than Batman's … and why the heck would you not pick Sammy for the glowing groom; this is way more his scene? The only premarital exercising I do is…"**

"**House of God Dean!!" The Pastor's warning hiss was like that of a rattlesnake about to strike.**

**Although he favored the older man with the "**_**told you so**_**" look and his patented smart-alecky grin, Dean said no more on the subject. He even remembered all the correct responses and managed to maintain a civil – albeit forced, Stepford, demeanor throughout the proceedings.**

**Watching his brother's back from the relative safety of the front pew sidelines, Sam could indulge all the broad grins he wanted. When Jim had asked him if he would stand in for the groom, he had realized two things. Firstly the "Ceremony" was not of the Supernatural kind and secondly, Dean had simply not paid enough for the itching powder in the shorts stunt, he had pulled back in the Hell House at Richardson, Texas. Sam swallowed a small lump that rose unbidden to his throat. There were other reasons he had no intention of playacting the groom at this or any other point in the near future. The many and varied barbs that Jessica's death had marked him with, still shocked him as he stumbled across them from time to time. He cleared his throat. Well at least he could breathe her perfume in now without wanting to run away and find the nearest airless vacuum and lock himself in it! Good thing too, as Meredith and Jessica shared more than the same shade of hair color. The rest of the affair went off without a hitch; Sam was certain this was to Dean's great relief.**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// **

**New England was frigid this time of year, and Dean shivered involuntarily in the fresh air. Sam glanced at him casually.**

"**You can't come down with something on your Wedding night dude – its bad luck or something."**

**Dean's mouth pulled at the corner and he offered his brother a withering look.**

"**Thanks for the advice … Dad - I can call you Dad, right Dad… seeing as you have now officially given me permission to violate your daughter?"**

"**Boys" Jim rumbled, as they walked from the church to the lodging at the rear, where he had agreed to put the brothers up.**

"**Sorry Jim" Sam replied immediately. **

**He had always admired Murphy's religious courage in the face of all he knew, and his brother held the same level of estimate for the clergyman – who along with Caleb's family and Bobby had practically raised them.**

"**You know Dean has trouble recognizing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate behavior."**

"**I do not!" Dean cried indignantly. "Jim accepts me for who I am; Mary Whitehouse. Besides I feel the need to cleanse myself after that little scene. I think I will meditate and seek the spirit with firewater."**

**Sam rolled his eyes hoping Jim's tolerance for Dean's blasphemous humor was as hardy as ever.**

"**That's the Holy Spirit, genius, not Jose the spirit… it doesn't come in a shot glass and it's represented by fire and not alcohol!"**

**Jim threw a backward glance at the boys.**

"**Sam – seminary school remains an option you know?" **

**Though he made the younger Winchester smile at his half intended quip, it was the older brother Jim needed a closer look at. Dean had not gone to church since he was ten, and had always taken the biblical verses with a chunk of rock salt even before that. Jim recalled a conversation with the elder boy, where, to Dean's world weary eyes, God was a disappointment – back when he acknowledged God- the boy couldn't understand how a being so powerful could allow such awful things to walk the earth amongst the children he loved; Dean had been six. The clergyman had always mourned the passing of Dean's childhood at the age of four, and admired how he fought so hard from a tender age to ensure his younger brother never shared his fate.**

**Dean caught the Pastor's gaze on him and blushed slightly.**

"**So thank you for letting us crash with you, we are kind of getting low on funds." Looking to Sam significantly he added in a too neutral tone "Something I'll have to remedy before long."**

**Jim reached the small pristine house at the rear end of the church and opened the door. **

"**If you are seeking out the local bar Dean, please try to remember I have to work for a while in this community. Try not to clean too many people out; it's not good for my business if I'm sponsoring the biggest shark in town."**

**Dean quirked a smile but looked unconsciously over his shoulder at the whitewashed world of Boxborough Massachusetts. **

"**That is assuming that this fine upstanding community allows gambling or bars Padre? I swear something about these white picket fences gives me the creeps!"**

**Sam shook his head knowingly as they headed for the living room.**

"**Oh that's right, while in Oasis Plains, Oklahoma, Dean had the epiphany that something about manicured lawns makes him want to blow his brains out!"**

**Dean obliged his brother's sarcastic quote with a discreet middle finger salute.**

"**Dean, New England architecture is famed for its grace and form…"**

**Sam turned off from the direction his thoughts were taking, not wanting to fuel the wicked grin on the older Winchester's face. Again the physic link to 555-Pain –in –my Ass, kicked in and Sam could practically hear Dean's sarcastic; "**_**Pass on the doilies Francis!"**_**, or something equally teasing involving a girls name!**

"**You prefer Motel structures then Dean?" Jim asked passing out the warm drinks.**

**Shrugging Dean replied "You know what to expect with those places – but all this sanitized, picture perfect stuff… What are they trying to whitewash? Nothing is that pure."**

**Jim regarded the young man with unreadable eyes. "Intentions sometimes can be son…" **

**The Pastor didn't elaborate as he bent down to feed the fire in the humble fireplace.**

**Dean threw Sam a **_**"What the hell"**_** look. Sam's curiosity was also piqued, but he knew Jim would not be drawn on information he did not wish to give. Years of confessional training had made the man more of a steel trap than Dean. **

**The fire was beginning to grow into a healthy blaze; the welcome heat drew a yawn from Dean.**

"**Why don't you boys get some rest" the Pastor suggested "you must be tired and I hardly gave you a chance to set your bags down before commandeering you both."**

**His smile was warm and affectionate, and Sam put aside his guard – this was Pastor Jim, surrogate Father to them both. It had been so long since Sam had spent any real time with the man, that he was surprised by the wave of nostalgia that hit him.**

"**Do you think you will have sometime to run through some of those old Latin texts of yours later?" Sam nodded towards Dean. "I am sure the Hustler here will be perfectly safe flying solo. There are no biker bars here right?"**

**Jim barked out a laugh "Not in this town… though they were debating putting in a section at the Boxborough Museum and historical society – you know for posterity sake."**

**Dean shook his head in feigned defeat. "Bookworms, your all alike… no soul!"**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// **

**The room they shared was comfortable, warm and clean, it outstripped many of the motels and dives they had called shelter over the years. The beds were crisp and inviting and both brothers drifted off within seconds of first contact with the marshmallow soft pillows. Sam's dreams took him down a familiar bittersweet path, overgrown with longed for desires that could never be, and harsh realities he wished that never were. Dean on the other hand had stepped down memory lane, or at least some adjoining back ally – he knew he was himself, but the oddly familiar landscape and characters in his dream mocked him with their borrowed feel.**

**The grassy area was hidden from general view behind the baseball dug-out. Dean was as unperturbed by the isolated spot, so far from help, as he was unfazed by their creative fourteen year old taunts. Although he couldn't help quirking a smile when one of the bullies training wheelies – the left one – deployed his arsenal of insults to effect, calling Dean a; **

"**Snotty little prussey."**

**The leader did his best to ignore the damage to his credibility, the other boys lisp had unintentionally caused, when he fixed his cold eyes on Dean.**

"**I don't know your fucking brother short-ass, but if you don't get the hell out of here – yesterday … you 'ain't leavin' on your own two legs!"**

**Dean's face let nothing slip. Deadpan worked best when you were trying to avoid becoming dead meat. It wasn't that Dean doubted that he could take the three of them, he was well aware of his talents. It was more a case of how much was just enough to send a convincing message, but not enough to call unwanted attention to the Winchester boys. Dean was not overrating his abilities. He had been training since he was six, five, if you counted the mental controls and visual techniques his Father had 'played' with him. By the ripe old age of ten, he was used to taking on opponents who far outweighed him; he had only had his ass handed back to him three times this year. Most recently by a drunken biker in one of the dive bars his Father had felt the need to wallow in. It wouldn't happen again – Dean was a fast study. He knew now that when trying to drag your blind drunk Dad out of a fight, insulting one of his opponents long dead Momma, wasn't the smartest tactic. Especially when said opponent had already been expressing his displeasure a moment ago with his size eleven pool que!**

**No, Dean was not concerned about winning here. He was worried about winning a little too well. He glanced at the dark haired girl who looked like she had just left the planet and was currently orbiting the moon. He had no time to ponder what the boys had done to cause her checked out state, because, he realized he had passed the red flag warning Mitchell had so generously given him. Right now the other two were trying to spread out and cover the younger boy from all sides… presumably to give the more even bruising pattern. **

**Dean shook his head. "Mitchell, before I lay you and your boyfriends out for nap-time, I want you to remember something."**

**The largest of the boys grinned arrogantly. "What's that freak? Your blood type?"**

"**No fuck-wit … his name is Sam, and if you ever screw with him …" Dean gestured at the girl "…or anyone else again, I will end you."**

**The two chuckle heads at his four and eight, made the predictable, post pubescent 'Whoa' noises, but Mitchell, who was the only one looking directly at the cold light in Dean's green eyes, swallowed slightly.**

**He drew up enough spit to grate "Fuck him up!"**

**Dean cocked his signature half wolf grin, as he took first defensive position, but made no other move. Naturally the fearless leader sent in his lisping second lieutenant first, with a nod.**

"**Gutsy Mitchell" Dean observed dryly as he sized up the lanky blond.**

**The other boy swung clumsily even as the kid to his left charged in, sucker punch at the ready. Dean deflected the half assed swing while grabbing the guy's jacket and running him head first into his friends charge. There was a loud grunt and Dean took the opportunity to extend his leg and let the air out of the second boy's stomach. The kid went down hard as the younger boy shifted his stance and swept Blondie's legs from under him, sending him crashing down on top of his buddy.**

"**You little prick" Mitchell yelled outraged.**

**To Dean's surprise the thick shouldered youth charged him head on. He braced himself and took the hit to the chest, as Mitchell tried to drive him into the ground. Using his elbow as his feet left the floor; he made contact with Mitchell's jaw. Landing hard, but with a continuous roll that moved him out of the meat-head's grasp, Dean began to reign blows in on Mitchell, whilst keeping a weary eye on the other two; in case the stupid was strong in them!**

"**Stop!" a commanding male voice carried to them.**

**Dean disengaged quickly, accepting the split lip and solid impact to his side that went with not drawing too much attention to the ten year old who had just taken out two far older students.**

"**I said stop it now Mitchell!"**

**Mr. Mckinvoy strode angrily towards the group, just as Dorothy arrived back from her trip to Oz and blinked at the scene in front of her. Mckinvoy took in the brunette's frightened features.**

"**Run along Ruth, there is no need for you to witness any more of this unpleasantness; I will send for you if I require your perspective."**

**There was a flash and a jumble of images. **

**Open door….spilling light… muffled cries… bloodied fists and then Dean's own face came into sharp focus. He was pale and there was a pretty impressive shiner making its appearance felt on his left socket.**

"**Run Ruthie…" he gasped "… RUN!" His breathing hitched "For wherever you go, I will go… And wherever you lodge, I will lodge."**

**He could hear heartfelt sobbing and something was spoken but was snatched away by his dreams selective state. As was the girls face. **

"**I will not leave you. I promise" His voice was steadier than the hands he laid on her shoulders.**

**Dean woke with a gasp, his eyes snapping back so fast he was sure he must have touched a live wire. Every nerve ending was jumping and he had to fight for control of his breathing and racing heart. The light went on, on the other side of the room.**

"**Dean" Sam asked groggily "you ok?"**

**Dean blew out his last calming breath – no way Sam was going to learn from his lips that he'd watched Yoga stress relief, daytime T.V, even before Sam had outlined its uses on a flight possessed by a Phantom Traveler in Pittsburgh some months back.**

_**(Jesus their lives were strange!)**_** "Just a weird dream Sam, go back to sleep" he replied automatically.**

"**You had a nightmare?" Sam pushed.**

"**No Wendy-lady, my 'weird' is not the same as your wacky nightmares… so I don't need a story or a thimble… thanks!"**

"**Fine" Sam grated, and might as well have added the **_**"asshole"**_**, he was so obviously thinking.**

**Dean felt a little guilty. He had overreacted only because the dream might as well have been manufactured by Disney, for all the memory it triggered. **

_**(Was it real? Had it happened? Who the hell was Ruthie and why was he quoting Shakespeare or whatever Ye Olde gibberish was, at her?!)**_

**He swiped a hand over his face as he rose, making for the bathroom.**

**Sam's head came up from the pillow, as his gaze followed his brother's broad back out of the room. Although Dean kept trying to sell that 'clear conscience, sleep like the dead' line to him – Sam was not buying. Dean kept his fears to himself, barely acknowledging he had them. Anytime he was so distracted he didn't even have a cover story for Sam, Sam was going to start paying more attention. Weather or not Peter Pan wanted him and his shadow scrutinized or not! **

**End Notes:**

**Dean's 'Shakespearean' quote is actually from the Book of Ruth - verse 1.... all will become clear... or less murky at any rate???!!! LoL.**

**So hopefully some of you are still out there and willing to share what you thought? Thanks for reading.**

**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

_"**For where ever you go, I will go; Wherever you lodge, I will lodge;" Ruth v.1 l.16**_

**Upon returning to their room, it was easy to see Dean had pulled together the stray threads of his hidden self and bound them once more behind his all encompassing confidence. He whistled something by Motorhead while he began to get ready to hit the local bar. Sam merely watched the all too familiar dance of 'Don't ask, don't tell'. Dean had re-grouped – and there was never room for discussion at this point, instead the younger brother decided to follow through his plan to spend some time with the good Pastor. Jim's keen eyes were bound to lend something to further his notes on the possible hunt that had led them to Boxborough. **

**Sam knew it was useless to bring up Dean's nightmare again – if half asleep, guard down Dean hadn't been inclined to share, no way super chirpy, wide awake, Midnight Cowboy Dean was going to spill the beans. Still, Sam had to do the check … it was his way… as much as total denial of the softer human emotions was Dean's. They made a fine pair; Dr Ruth and the T-1000, each overcompensating for the other! **

"**You know Dean; maybe we should leave the pursuit of funds till tomorrow… we should look into these deaths in more detail before venturing out into the area."**

**His brother smiled sweetly at him as he buttoned up his most respectable blue shirt.**

"**Great tactical thinking there Sammy – except for two things. Firstly, you hustle pool about as well as you pick up women… starvation could be a real possibility! Secondly, we both know who Jim's favorite Rhodes Scholar is. This is playing to both our strengths; besides only locals have been singled out… we tourists are safe."**

**Sam was not so easily won. "Yeah but Dean…"**

**Nor would his brother so easily loose. "Quit worrying Francis, I'll be fine. Look, if anyone gets too pissed at loosing… I'll watch out for flying doilies!!" **

**(**_**Knew there would be Doilies!!)**_** "Whatever dude, just take it easy – I'd feel bad for Jim if he had to stand between us and a pitchfork wielding mob, trying to run us out of town, in his first month here!"**

**Dean still felt a little guilty at blowing up earlier at Sam. The shower he had taken, had dispelled most of the hebeegeebees the strange dream had given him; but there was no way he'd leave Sam churning out some future stomach ulcer, worrying about him. He headed for safer ground.**

"**Jim was kind of cryptic this afternoon huh?"**

**Sam smiled, unraveling the frown lines. "Yeah, intentionally so I feel, where do you think that came from?"**

**Dean shrugged. "You know what the ****real**** question is here though… right?" Seriousness crept into his voice.**

"**No – what?"**

"**Who knew Jim was such a big Yoda freak?!" Dean smirked waggling both his eyebrows as he exited the room.**

**Sam blew out a fond laugh as he called "Be Careful" and added in a much lower tone "you insufferable Jerk".**

"**Always" was the debatable, yelled response "Watch out for paper cuts Bitch".**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Settling the file on his lap, Jim Murphy nestled deeper into his chair by the fire. He watched the young man before him tap out a fevered rhythm on his laptop, almost as much as he read. **

"**Your file work has greatly improved Sam, you were always through, but this is impressive."**

**Murphy leafed through the profiles on each individual death, over the past two years, that fit the pattern Sam had put together.**

"**How did you arrive at these Sam – I know Boxborough is a small town and the time scale is tight for four deaths, but …"**

**Sam noted Jim's fixated stare on the pictures of the victims; a stare that avoided Sam entirely. That uneasy feeling began to rise again. Jim had taught their father, a good deal about researching a Hunt; that he would miss any pattern so obvious, was like suggesting Stephen Hawking didn't understand the Count on Sesame Street! Sam had just finished telling Jim how the last two victims's appeared to have known each other. Steven Mitchell, the latest to fall, had posted a grief stricken blogg, following the funeral of his friend, and victim number three, Ralph Taylor. Steve had warned of the dangers of not looking out for your buddies. The guy seemed to believe that his obviously disturbed friend had only drowned himself in his own bathtub after no one would listen to his tales of seeing a shadowy figure stalking him and leaving wet foot prints all over his house.**

"**Uh" Sam began awkwardly, not wanting to offend the Pastor. "You see their all locals, suspicious circumstances surrounding their deaths, there definitely seems to be a link to the local school… Blanchard Memorial… I just need to dig a little more on Ian McKinley, the first victim… and then there is the involvement of water in each case…" **

**Sam left it hanging, if he tried to join those dots, he might as well grab the crayon out of Jim's hand, and Dean hadn't raised him that way.**

"**Hmm" Jim murmured responding to the matter of fact tone the boy was trying so hard to hide, the merest hint of an embarrassed flush tinged his cheeks, "I must be loosing my touch."**

**He finally glanced up and caught the look he had been dreading, on Sam's face. Doubt and maybe a hint of suspicion. **

"**As I said Sam, you and Dean are driving this one, but I am happy to help in any way I can, I am on quite good terms with the sheriff and one or two others who are laymen on the Church Council."**

"**That'd be great Jim, definitely cuts down on the role play – you know how Dean **_**loves**_** that****!"**

**The clergyman rose with a rueful smile and headed towards the kettle in the kitchen.**

"**Between you and me Sam, ****that ****piece of resistance comes from the time your brother was eight and had to dress as a girl to give your Father access to a hunt site."**

**Sam's face was a picture. Shock waged open war with the obscenely large grin threatening to overrun his whole face.**

"**No way", was all he managed.**

**Jim seemed to have noticed his reaction too late; evidently it had been far too long.**

"**Now Samuel…" he began in a cautioning tone, "that information, is not ammo!"**

"**Oh come on Pastor Jim" Sam exploded incredulously. **

"**How do you expect me to contend with the guy who dealt with me in diapers and knows far too much for my own good?! Do you think that he'd hold back for one second if he…."**

"**Your brother sacrificed a lot for you Sam, I know you know that – he always puts you first, no matter what cost to himself…. I…." Jim trailed off, realizing he had been gripping the counter; and Sam's keen hunters eye, had seen him.**

**Jim cursed the second time he had underestimated Sam Winchester, or perhaps he was just an old coot playing at a game he had been in too long, and now, the stakes had caught up with him. Unfortunately, Jim concluded, he would not be taking this loss alone. He was sorry to have to lie to Sam like this, he was afraid he would have to call John and argue the odds with a man who had stuck to his guns more firmly than his faith, but most of all, he feared for Dean. When he had first heard that the boys were coming to Massachusetts, he had suspected a hunt, he had phoned their Father to ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at. When he found he and John's answer machine were becoming firm friends, he had left one last message. One that would ensure a reply the next time he called, unless his friend was incapacitated or worse. **

"**John… Dean's coming back to Boxborough."**

**////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Rachael eyed his handsome profile from her corner of the bar. It was a slow night, even by Boxborough standards; out of the tourist season, it was to be expected. He made it interesting. His features were finely cut and sun kissed, the planes of his high cheek bones were covered with the merest hint of stubble – effortlessly attractive, that's what he was. Green eyes, that were warm, deep and penetrating by degrees, and full blown supple lips – both seemed permanently on the verge of laughter. Though he was built like an angel, his hot gaze and masculine timbre, made her positive he could play the devil convincingly. Most of her was certain that she had never seen anything so damned hot before… but then there was this small niggling part of her whispering that, his glorious green eyes were familiar and she had been rewarded with his wolfish smile before.**

"**Hey Dean" she tried again, stepping closer to that heady scent of motor oil, soap and him, her smile brightened. "Are you sure we've never crossed paths before Hun?"**

**His smile went straight through her in a way that made her think she should be alone.**

"**Now why would I cross paths with an Angel like you, and keep moving Rach?"**

**Of course it was a line – she had heard them all, but from his beestung lips, it was made anew. She had stopped concentrating on what he was saying and her imagination had started putting words in his mouth… for starters. The corner of her mind, the part that kept telling her to pull the rest of it out of the gutter and concentrate; persisted in suggesting that this handsome stranger, was in fact just handsome. Did she know him? She could tell that he did not remember, or didn't want to let on and either way a second chance was better than no chance with him. **

"**You've been pretty lucky on the table tonight. Pool your favorite game?" she asked coquettishly. **

**Dean smiled knowingly at her. "I dabble" he answered elusively. **

**He had no time for the game Rachael seemed to be suggesting right now. Darling Sammy had made it clear that an early start was on the cards. However there was no point burning such attractive bridges so early in the game. So Dean played coy for the rest of the night and Rachael played along, enjoying the chase.**

**////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Looking at himself in the Gentsroom mirror, Dean was willing to concede he was buzzed, merry even… it was probably time to go. As he turned on the cold tap and washed his face, he felt an odd prickling sensation across the back of his exposed neck. He looked up quickly. The lights were steady and the open window kept the cool temperature constant. Adjusting the piece under his jacket for good measured he lowered his head again. The brush against his hand was so faint he almost believed it was his imagination. Except the vice like grip that claimed both his hands, seconds later, hinted otherwise. In lightening speed it pulled him down till his head bounced once off the metal fittings. For a few moments his senses contended with the natural feeling of pain radiating in waves and a steady trickle of blood from his head, and the unnatural sensation of the wet, clammy, clawing, frigid hold that he could make out by disturbing touch alone. He never saw what it was, and as he released consciousness and spilled heavily to the floor, the freezing tap water continued to flow over his face and body. The wetness began to pool and overrun his motionless form, it leaked down to the bathroom floor and flowed towards the door keeping perfect pace with the set of small wet footprints running alongside it.**

**Flash... **

**Dean thinks it's a dream. It could be a dream. But the freezing cold sensation that has gripped his body and is the cause of the shivering, feels undeniably real. Without warning, a sense of weightlessness steals over him. Now he is dreaming; he is being weighed down by two weights on either arm, but he is not tied to either of them, except by the death grip he his fighting to maintain. His lungs are on fire with the exertion and he knows he is about half a stone heavier with all the water he has taken in. A feeling of desolation grows in him, utter darkness steals into his soul – the despair is like nothing he can ever recall facing in his life. Every tendon and muscle in his legs, but especially in his shoulders and arms, screams to be released; if this is it, then for pity's sake no more savage struggling. He tried… he lost. But a roar builds from the very pit of his stomach, from the churning, fearful, outraged depths of his hopelessness. A cry painful to voice, and judging from the wailing responses he receives – painful to hear. He raises his head as he screams with all the venom in his heart. He makes the choice that he curses God for placing on him.**

**FLASH…**

**Like strobe lighting his mind changes scene on him, but his heart holds on to the terror and the anger. This time he is on dry land, though the cold is also a constant. He shivers in the cramped cupboard he has taken shelter in. His Father will be pissed; curfews are non-negotiable in the Winchester rule book. He knows Sammy is safe with Pastor Jim and for a rare moment in his young life, he acts his age… wishing that either Jim or his Father would be out looking for him. That his Dad might realize that ten at night is too late for a ten year old to be out, that something is terribly wrong … that he is trapped, and he just wants to go home. He clamps his teeth as they threaten to chatter more loudly. He can not be found, as bad as that would be for him … it would be worse for her. And after all she is what holds him here – his word is what holds him here, it should not be this way… not for either of them. **

**Dean watches from the crack in the wardrobe, its ill-fitting door giving him an insight into life that his young mind could have done without. His breath catches as he watches her cower, shrink and transform into a ball as**** he**** approaches. ****He**** is built like a linebacker and Ruth has this insanely calm look in her eyes – like the ball resigned to being punted. Dean looses contact with her, she is dwarfed by the shadowy looming wall – he needs to know she is ok, he made his promise, he swore, he said he'd stay out of sight but stay … he has to see her, he can't… he can't breathe…**

**His vision is cloudy from the rivulets of sweat that roll down his face and join the steady stream of tears coursing down his cheeks. He doesn't even think to wipe them away. Then the hammer falls. Dean is sure he flinches as much from digging his nails into his own arms, as from watching them … wanting – needing to share her pain. He promised… he promised… his promise is all she has to cling to. His ears buzz and he has the heady sensation that he is about to pass out, only he is not the one taking the beating here – yet he hopes that at some point soon he will get to turn those tables.**

**Time stutters and starts – one moment frozen by a yell, the next three minutes wiped out by a whimper. He has seen the impossible, been face to face and tooth to skin with all kinds of nightmares, he had just never imagined a horror to rival this one. It hid so neatly behind its New England architecture and perfectly manicured lawn- this monsterous man…her father. His own father, consumed like a thing possessed, and absent as he was prone to be on occasion, bore all the training of the military and yet, physically used all the force of a fruit fly, when it came to his kids. Dean could make no sense of it. **

**His sight blurred repeatedly. The burning desire to look away churned in his stomach, until he felt the need to rid his system of every scrap of food he had every eaten or thought about eating – how he held on, how he kept his promise, he did not know. All he knew was that Ruth was his friend and she needed him. Her soft voice and too pale face wrought that promise to stay from his very heart and he cursed it as it passed his lips, because he knew, as all children instinctively do – that he couldn't tell anyone. So here he was bidding his time, while the animal that masqueraded as her father, beat a false confession out of her. **

**He clenches his teeth harder and he resolves to forgo the Sunday sermon Jim had been planning earlier that day. Sadly, it would hurt the Pastor's feelings, and Dean didn't even want to think about the creative punishment his Dad would conjure… but he just could not listen to Jim's devotion, not after hearing Ruthie's pleading cries. He had nothing he wanted to say to God… actions spoke louder than words, and Dean had seen enough.**

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN///////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**He came to with a cry of terror. The cold was gone, there was only the warmth of the room and someone holding him as his disoriented mind struggled to piece together where he was and what was happening to him.**

"**Whoa, take it easy, I have got you Dean" **

**It was Sam's voice, he was sure of it as he was that he was back at the church. He fought to give strength to his voice.**

"**How…"**

"**A barmaid named Rachael found you passed out and called the last number on your phone. Jim talked her into waiting on us rather than the ambulance… though that is a pretty bad cut you have and Jim checked it over; he is still debating over the hospital visit."**

"**You told him about the shape shifter right?" Dean managed haltingly.**

**Sam steered his brother back down towards the bed. **

"**Yeah, he was a little freaked that you are currently listed as dead. Now do you think you're up to telling me what the hell happened to you… cement doilies?"**

**Sam watched his brother's drawn face ease up a little and he knew that he had opted for the right track, though it took everything he had not to let on exactly how freaked both he and Jim had been upon finding Dean. **

**Dean sighed "Don't know what to tell you man. I hit my head and went to the land of nod, only…. I could have sworn there was something there… our kind of something, but…"**

"**I might be inclined to agree with you Dean," Sam turned his phone towards his brother.**

**Dean's face regained some of its former tightness as he viewed the picture on Sam's mobile. "You gotta be kidding me… even the tourists aren't safe anymore?"**

**Sam shook his head eyeing the wet footprints. "Do you remember seeing anything – shadowy shapes?"**

"**The only thing I saw was stars Sammy and…." Dean glanced at Sam knowing that at this point the track Sam was going down required more information. "… I felt a presence and when I went down I thought I was in water… I was drowning."**

**Dean's voice quivered and Sam knew the likelihood was that his big brother was giving him the sanitized version of things, he'd tackle that later. Right now Sam's path was clear, they needed information; on the first victim and how he fitted into the equation, they needed to know if any of the others saw figures or watery prints before they died, a list of drown victims would be a must … but most of all Sam had to figure out where Dean figured into this and why. **

"**Hey Sam." Dean's voice had a reluctant quality to it "I was wondering if you are getting a strong sense of deja-vu here… because I can't shake the feeling, it's driving me nuts, and that barmaid, Rachael was convinced she knew me… what if…."**

"**What if we aren't tourists? What if we have lived here before? Don't you usually have one of those Rainman memories for those kinds of details?"**

"**Hunts, yes …. Girls numbers, definitely… but architecture and such I leave up to you Geek Boy." Dean smiled faintly.**

"**I guess there's only one other way to find out." Sam said shortly.**

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN///////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Jim moved on well trained silent feet the rest of the way down the corridor towards his room. He had moved away to give the boys some privacy as Dean began to come around, however the course the conversation was taking, and the speed with which those boys moved made it necessary for him to back off and think through his next move. One thing was for sure … the time had come to make that call.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; ****This chapter is a little slow for my liking - I needed to expose more of the story in order to get to chapter four... which I am hoping makes up for the lack of action in this one!!!!! Please let me know how it's going - all reviews BETTER than peanut M and M's!!!!! (No seriously!!!! ;-) )**

**Chapter Three**

_"**Where you die, I will die, And there will I be buried." Book of Ruth V:1 L:16**_

**Sunlight was about as welcoming as coarse salt in a raw flesh wound. The pills Sam had slipped him were definitely top shelf of the medicine cabinet – Jim's reserves probably, as the Winchesters usually got by on Tylenol, as often as not. No dreams – the kind of deep sleep Dean rarely enjoyed anymore. He was less than willing to let the chemically induced cloak of warmth and comfort fall away. Without cracking an eyelid in acknowledgement of the offending celestial body, Dean let out a low growl;**

"**Go the fuck away".**

"**Good afternoon to you too Sunshine" Sam grinned nursing a steaming cup in his hand.**

"**Afternoon?" Dean questioned daring to peek out at the world he was less than enthusiastic to join. The older hunter's head felt like the percussion section of the Met. **

"**I would be so much more chipper if some asshole didn't keep waking me up all friggin night long!"**

"**I'm hurt Groucho – you used to rate my bedside manner… well over dad's anyway; besides you have a slight concussion."**

**Dean felt it now, the slight roll of the stomach and wavering vision… but he'd had worse. Besides if foggy memory served him – he had managed to stumble across the very spirit they had intended to hunt.**

"**Is it my imagination, or did I get my clocks cleaned by Casper the cowardly ghost?"**

**Sam watched as his brother attempted to make it up to sitting position and paled slightly.**

"**Still nauseous?" He asked reaching out in concern.**

"**Yeah and nine months gone." Dean bit out sarcastically, slapping his brother's hand away. (**_**Didn't Sam realize it was game time – they didn't have time for this touchy feely crap?)**_

**Sam gave him a cold hard stare. "You want to get straight to work – fine, what happened last night?"**

**Dean had to work hard not to blink in surprise at how much his baby brother seemed to mutate into their Jarhead Father in front of his eyes. He recovered quickly.**

"**Told you already, spirit got the drop on me, and then just plain dropped me – now do you want to give me some space to get up here… or are we not done playing Dr Doogie yet?"**

"**Devil's in the detail Dean, remember?" Sam asked pointedly quoting the John Winchester bible; first edition. **

"**Oh Lord – you never let things go do you Sammy… the devil is right here, with a cup of caffeine and ****still**** hasn't offered me any! I suggest you rectify that oversight, Lucifer, while I get ready and then we will discuss our next move."**

"**You want to be a superhero Dean – fine" Sam grated "knock yourself out!" **

**Sam exited without the backward glance that would have confirmed his suspicions that Dean needed his help. Dean tilted sideways and dropped heavily hitting his ass on the floor. Luckily Sammy had clucked his way down most of the corridor already, and didn't hear him fall. Sometimes having Moody Sasquatch for a brother had its benefits. Dean used both hands to haul himself up on the bed, maybe a day of Good ole sit and study, was just what was needed here.**

**//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Sam entered the kitchen not really paying attention to anything other than the half mumbled stream of blue curses he attached under his breath to his brothers name. He was only half way through "jumped up, Jarhead wannabe, asshole", when he noticed Jim was sitting in his favorite chair by the fire. Then he noticed two things simultaneously; Jim had company, and both men were looking at him in shock. Jim's smile looked paper thin, whilst his eyes pleaded with Sam to pull something out of the bag. Sam graced the stranger with his warmest smile whilst sizing up the man. He was a few years younger than Jim but larger in build, his muscled forearms weren't quite camouflaged by the sweater set he wore. The bible he was holding was clasped delicately between his hands, and from the position both men were frozen in, he and Jim had been discussing something from the Good Book. **

"**Sorry practicing for my next role… I have a small part, but it's all fairly NC-17, I have to really work hard at the language… I didn't mean to interrupt.**

"**Well, my boy" Jim beamed with 80% pure relief "I'm sure we both understand the need to do well scholastically. This is Deputy Graham Henley. He works with me on the church council, and is giving me the benefit of his twenty-five years of experience."**

**Sam nodded with an ease he did not feel, and held out his hand. "Sam Win…"**

**Jim threw him the hand signal for 'duck and cover', one of four Sam still remembered from growing up in a covert, Hunting dominated household and he reacted as if on auto-pilot. **

"**Sam Winterfield. Uncle Jim here kindly let us stay for a while.**

"**Us?" the newcomer questioned good-naturedly.**

**Jim found he was grinding his teeth. Apparently Sam had been out of practice too long with this type of on your feet cover story. **_**(Us?!!!)**_** Jim had no intention of Henley or anyone else carrying a badge meeting the "us" part of the Winchester equation. But of course now "us" had to be defined, but with as vague a definition as Jim could get away with.**

"**Sam's cousin, Dylan" Jim interjected a little abruptly, is under the weather and I don't really want to keep Sam … How is he doing?"**

**Sam caught the true concern behind the question. He smiled at Jim "You know Dylan – giving me hell for his overindulgence."**

**The other man seemed to be none the wiser to any of the irregularities in the exchange between Sam and Jim. Henley smiled broadly at Sam.**

"**You kinda the Abel to his Cain, son?"**

**Sam worked hard not to release a Deanism that jumped to mind. He hated strangers who called him "son" or presumed things about his brother … ok cousin in this scenario!**

"**We are as close as brothers I guess, but we tend to favor both biblical characters." Sam returned as neutrally as he could. **

"**Well good actors require a full knowledge of humanity, virtues and vices – the Almighty delights when we strive for perfection in all the tasks we take on."**

**Sam's poker face, the one he'd used growing up with mildly concerned educators or social workers going through the motions, slid firmly into place. Just like old times – Stonewall them all; don't give anyone a foothold… protect Dean.**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**It had taken twenty minutes to shower (he had risked a lecture twice as long from Sam) and get dressed. Dean had spent a good deal less time in the water than he would have normally. He tried telling himself that this was because he was still out of it due to the meds and his balance was off. However, there was an angry buzzing noise that had nothing to do with the shower pressure, as soon as his skin came into contact with the steaming water and his skull felt like it had been placed under a pneumatic drill. He had fallen to his knees and had to crawl out of the tub. Time had passed him as he lay stretched out on the bed, but slowly, mercifully, the headache was going. He ****really**** needed that coffee – had Sam skipped the country… was he currently hand grinding a batch of dark roasted Columbian somewhere south of Mexico? **

"**Where the heck are you Sammy" Dean exhaled painfully and began to get up.**

**He figured he ought to tell Sam the basics about his new found water irritation. He didn't want to worry Sam, but Dean had a level of professionalism in hunting that he only applied to a few other areas of his life. Besides this thing… whatever it was, might turn on Sam, and they needed to know what they were dealing with. **

**By the time he made his way down the hall he had almost shaken off the groggy feeling. The pain and noise in his head had lowered to a manageable level. Upon nearing the kitchen he slowed down at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He heard Sam's voice sounding a little pinched and defensive bid Deputy George goodbye.**

_**(Just precious … Jim had said something about the law being on the church council with him… just like this fine upstanding town to be more wholesome than Happy Days!!! All I need now is to ask Mrs. Cunningham if she has a miracle headache cure, swap tricks with the Fonze and bang Joanie – that would make it all better!)**_

**He waited a moment as Jim said his farewells and made arrangements to next meet as he closed the door on his guest. Before he could enter the kitchen Sam's voice drifted to him.**

"**How on earth can you stand that 'Holier than thou' attitude Pastor Jim? I mean who is … 'Holier than thou' – you're a Priest for pity's sake?!!!! And why the hell did he seem so interested in Dean … sorry Dylan and I?"**

**Jim's voice sounded a little tired. "There is no such thing as a perfect Priest Sam – or I have never met one. As for the Deputy, he is all alone in the world, and this town is his world – it is sometimes alarming how far he goes to secure it and his place in it."**

"**He all but used the heat lamp Jim – and Dylan would have lost patience with it …"**

"**Sam I think it prudent that we keep Dean away from the law in this town as much as possible…"**

**Dean strode into the kitchen; he didn't like people making decisions for him – even if those would have been his own choices. The last thing he needed now was some overzealous Deputy, who was part bloodhound making trouble for Jim or even Sam and him before they finished this hunt.**

"**Dylan" he emphasized the name, testing it out "has no intention of riling up the law here Pastor – we promised this would be a clean hunt and we intend to fix it and leave with out putting you out too much."**

**Jim looked at him for a moment his eyes bright. You boys are family; you have never put me out. Besides, I have been doing this job for a while now – I have a history in this town and with that man, Boxborough is one of the parishes they like to rotate me into from time to time – you boys didn't invent the term 'slick'. How are you doing – you gave us a scare there."**

**Sam had silently made the overdue coffee and set it on the table near his laptop; Dean walked over and took the seat next to his brother.**

"**Well I think it's safe to say I won't be skinny dipping in this town." He glanced at Sam measuring his words. "I think we need to check the records for drownings, because someone is trying to get some attention round here … and Jim, we need to know, have we visited you here before?"**

**Jim gave Dean an odd look, almost calculating. "Yes… when you were both younger, your Father was looking into the crossroads at Interstate 495 and Route 111, he spent most of his time on the Harvard side and wanted you boys to stay safe incase it was…."**

"**A Demon?" Sam breathed. "Did he find it?"**

"**No – all signs indicated that it had shut up shop a while ago. John followed up some of the witness leads – it took a while, you boys stayed here with me."**

**Dean watched the Pastor carefully, returning look for look. Jim had never been this tight lipped before. "Why would you not mention us being here before?"**

**The clergyman held his gaze his blue eyes unwavering. **

_**(This would be it then … too late Jonathan, time's up, you trained your boys too well. So why am I the one reaching for the Flack jacket?! Damn you, you stubborn Son of a Bitch – they deserve better than this!) **_

**There was an incident towards the end of the hunt… a young girl drowned …she was Henley's daughter and …."**

**Dean held his head in both hands – Jim's voice was like the score to a film he had watched before. His ears took in every word but something in his head rebelled and backed off. The buzzing grew stronger and if he didn't do something about it soon, it would bring him to his knees again, he couldn't do that, not in front of Sam. How could he keep his promise to look out for his brother, if some demented bumble bee could bring him down so easily?**

"…**And she is probably the Boo we are looking for, so let's mount up Sammy." Dean gripped the table to haul himself up. He felt Sam's hand on his shoulder.**

"**Shouldn't we hear Jim out Dean; the more information we are armed with the better… didn't we get that memo last night?"**

"**Dean" Jim began once more with a slightly trembling tone. He was not sure about this, the fall out last time … he had told John to get the boy some professional help – no ten year old should be that withdrawn, especially not the live wire that Dean had been before. "She was a friend of yours… you and Sam were probably there, out by the lake beside the icehouse on Steele Farm … You boys were seen going out with her but you came back with Sam, she wasn't…."**

"**Her name was Ruth …" Dean said slowly with a touch of anger in his voice.**

"**Do you remember what happened that night Dean? John was so scared that Henley would try to pin something on you – you were in shock and Sam had been knocked out … Henley was enraged I had to …."**

"**How could you sit there passing pleasantries with that guy Pastor?" Sam asked bewildered. "That self righteous creep suspected something – you could tell that too couldn't you? And back then - he thought what… a ten year old had killed his daughter?!"**

"**I didn't want you boys coming here Sam, I tried to dissuade you. I thought if I kept you and him apart – I could protect you both, and we did what we did back then to protect you – Dean was…."**

"**It doesn't matter" Dean's voice was flat and cold. **

**He looked at the men in front of him, praying they didn't see the cracks he was sure must be showing. The buzzing had resolved itself into an identifiable sound. A voice, young, female and full of rage. He could guess who it was – but what she was saying still eluded him. He faced down the objections rising in Sam's eyes. **

"**Go get our stuff Sammy… the answers we need can only be found at Henley's place – and right now I need those answers more than your objections."**

**Dean waited for his thinlipped, pissed looking brother to leave before looking the priest dead in the eye and asking challengingly "What else do you know Jim – did I do it?"**

"**You were ten years old Dean … there's no way you could have…"**

"**Let's see, military training since I was five, suspiciously disappearing into the night with the Sargent … no that doesn't look like O.J innocence at all!"**

**Jim walked over to the boy taking him by the shoulders. Dean stiffly allowed the contact but looked away. "You are not guilty of this son, I don't know the facts, but I know how much you cared for that girl, and I know you … something did happen, but you were not the cause of it – I know that."**

**Dean's face wore a torn look. Jim loathe the suffering he saw there. Whatever had happened all those years ago had never fully been laid to rest, not for Dean who had been too traumatized to recount anything of value and certainly not for Ruth – it appeared. Dean being the seasoned hunter he was, sensed there was more to this than Jim was telling him – and Jim hated that there was not a damned thing he could do about that. **

"**You aren't going to tell me where some of that certainty comes from, are you Jim?"**

"**I would do anything to get around that Dean, but you know I can't …"Jim's voice was thick with emotion. Dean's expressive eyes told him everything he did not need to know about the damage he was doing to the boy.**

"**We trusted you Jim… I trusted … but that's it isn't it" His young face twisted bitterly. "Priest first… Hunter second…."**

**Jim reached out to the younger man but he wasn't fast enough, Dean left the house without looking back, taking his fury out on the door as he went. The Pastor hastened forward to catch Sam who was hefting their heavy duffle bag and his Laptop. **

"**Sammy, I know your brother is angry right now and believes I am on the other side, but you have to believe me – your Father and I acted in what we thought was your best interest."**

**Sam glanced at the grip Murphy had on his arm. "By lying to us Pastor?"**

"**Sam your brother was in a very bad way after that night – he didn't speak to anyone for months. That girl's body was never found, so no-one knew anything for sure. Whatever happened out there was so terrible for Dean that he could not face it then – he locked it away… and honestly I am not sure your brother is ready to go back there now. Watch out for him Sammy – he needs you."**

**Sam pulled his arm away from the Pastor "I know where my loyalties lie Jim" Sam replied coldly; unlike my Father it seems. I don't need orders or co-ordinates to find them. **

"**That's not entirely fair son – John …."**

"**He wasn't there Jim, and you were following your priestly calling – so tell me which of you were looking out for Dean? Speaking of absences – you would have called Daddy dearest – did he mention when he'd get here?"**

**Jim dropped the other man's arm as if it was a hot coal. He had been shocked when John had not picked up his phone, but the shred of loyalty he maintained for his one time best friend stopped him from sharing this with his youngest most volatile son.**

**Sam smiled sourly as he left. "Thought so."**

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**The drive down to Henley's house in the late Massachusetts sunlight burned with unspoken questions for both of them. Dean appreciated that his brother kept his thoughts and queries to himself allowing Dean time to prepare as best he could. Words kept drifting through his unsettled and noisy mind. Words from the past like; "**_**You Promised**_**" and "**_**Help me,**_**" chilled his blood at the same time as; "**_**Please Dean**_**", clutched at his heart causing it to skip at intervals. The car rounded the last bend and as they drew up to the beautiful Colonial house with its damned white picket fence, Dean caught his breath. The babbling that was beginning to drive him crazy stopped dead. It was so sudden that Dean who had been straining against it like some physical barrier to him doing his job, almost swerved the car off the road. With a sigh and three words that voice exchanged fear for utter dread in Dean's mind.**

_**There you are.**_

**As he turned off the engine and followed Sam more slowly than he normally would, Dean filled the new found quiet space in his mind with a single thought;**

**(**_**I am so screwed!)**_

**End Notes:**

**So there it was - hopefully you all are still with me - and I promise more spirit related high jinx in the next one. THANKS to all for your time!**

**Disclaimer:**** All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 by CdeWinter78**

**Author's Notes:**

**Disclaimers;**** Dean and Sam belong to Kripke - but Jared and Jensen ... they have free will ... right?!!! Obviously my meds are running way low!!!**

**Ratings;**** This chapter is peppered with blue language and hints at physical child abuse. Please consider before reading.**

**A/N;**** Thank you so much to all who have been reading along and especially to those of you who decided to enlighten me as to how you feel this is going - really appreciate that! This chapter introduces another fallen hunter from the pre-Season 1 world ... enjoy.**

**Chapter 4 **

_**("The Lord do so to me, and more also, If anything but death parts you and me." Book of Ruth V; 1 L; 17.) **_

**They had made certain Henley wasn't around. Without needing to confirm the fine print (and despite the cloud that they left under) they knew Jim would run interference for them if needed, giving them time to sweep the Deputy's home. Entering via the back was embarrassingly easy considering they were dealing with a lawman. Dean couldn't suppress the notion that this had more to do with the man's Julius Caesar complex than the trusting small town mentality they often encountered. Graham Henley was rarely on the receiving end of things – he was an established pillar of the community and keeper of the peace and … he collected small plastic Snoopy figures and thimbles?!! Dean paused to touch some of the models lining the display shelves on the kitchen walls. Intermixed with the cartoon beagle were pretty porcelain thimbles bearing flowers or printed scenes.**

"**We can ponder weather this rates as tasteful interior design later Dean," Sam's fierce whisper pushed "let's go – we need to work this quickly."**

**Sam earned himself another hand signal – this one introduced by Dean, added to the four he remembered from his early hunting days.**

**They swept the kitchen, each taking a side of the well kept, shaker styled room. Dean passed the fridge and paused as he scanned the memos and church missals. He kept his mind totally focused on what he was doing by sheer force of will. The young voice in his head was incessant, insistent and inconsolable. There was a sense of loss that went beyond regret and despair when he had been examining the odd collection on the shelving. He had found himself clasping the object his hand had been on and biting his lip to keep the cry within. The raw emotions pulsed through him like a furiously, fast flowing river, threatening its own banks. For a man who kept an air tight lid on his own emotions, the thought of having someone else's feelings squatting in his brain was terrifying. The thimble in his grasp broke with a muted popping sound and he felt a small bite as some of the particles embedded in his left palm. A quick scan of Sammy was inconclusive. The younger Winchester had his head buried in a baking cupboard as if it was the mines of King Solomon and he had just struck gold.**

"**Dean I believe our deputy might have a drinking problem." Sam's voice echoed from within.**

**He emerged from the cabinet holding two empty two liter bottles of Tennessee's hard stuff.**

"**There are six more like this under there. Looks like Mr. Squeaky Clean is a tough act to keep up."**

**Dean made a non-committal sound as they moved simultaneously through the far doors and into the low lit hallway. Sammy was trying in his own sweet, utterly transparent way to find the bad guy for them to focus on – his little brother never did get the lesson about thinking like your enemy …. Dean wondered if the fact that he could, led him down a darker path, than even he was prepared to deal with? **

**The lighting had switched on as they entered the main corridor and appeared to be on timers, as bulbs began to grow in illumination, by degrees. Dean pointed upstairs, meaning to start the search up and work down. Most people hid the things they didn't want seen by the light of day in the room they only occupied at night. Bedrooms were sanctuary not just for the weary soul but the wicked too, and many a secret lay undisturbed alongside its sleeping perpetrator. The elder hunter ignored the pictures on the walls and left the re-con to Sam; he had no intention of adding more fuel to the fire in his head. **

**Dean's torchlight was unsteady. The tremor began in his arm and as he ascended the stairs, they grew into full blown shakes. He felt hot and cold by degrees and knew something was going frigging wrong when he had to put half his concentration into keeping his gun hand steady and trained ahead, whilst the rest of his reserves went on keeping his breathing even. Luckily Sammy was behind him so he wasn't giving himself away and his struggling grip could not accidentally let off a shot at his brothers back.**

_**(Pity he has no such hesitation.)**_

**Dean almost missed a step at the now clear sound, of the young voice in his mind. He felt Sam's steadying grip on his shoulder.**

"**Get offa me Sam!" he gruffed more sternly than he meant to.**

**Sam blew out an irritated breath, but maintained their silent sweep of the stairs and landing.**

**The elder man's mind was racing and the only thing fit to beat it was his heart rate, which was going as fast as God damned Superman on an energetic day! Hearing voices was not on the Good Mental Health checklist, the last time he looked and seeing as Dean hadn't ever spoken in tongues or had Angels whisper God's laundry list in his ear; that only left two options… Either Dean was about to have a massive brain embolism – and die… or … he had caught Sammy's freaky Ghost Whispering, psychic sickness. **

_"_**Oh Friggin Great! That's all I fucking need" he muttered to himself, apparently unable to contain the sentiments in the confines of his head – where they belonged, because…. Well because, the truth was Dean was freaking the hell out!**

**He was a liability to Sam, and going along the upstairs corridor that seemed to be closing in on him even as he took ever slower steps forward, was a BIG friggin mistake.**

"**Dean" Sam's half barked urgent whisper practically made his brother jump out of his skin, "what the hell is wrong with you – and don't give me that I'm fine shit!!"**

**Sam sounded one part pissed to two parts worried and it all seemed to be adding up to a dissolving hunt.**

_**(Just Great.**_** Dean mentally chided himself. **_**Now neither of us has our eye on the game.) **_

_**(Are you coming to get me… Dean? **_**The voice suddenly whispered, clearly unimpressed by the possibility.**

**Dean choked down the whimper that threatened to leak from his lips.**

_**(Get the fuck out of my head Casper!) **_

**It was a feeble attempt, he knew it and so did the spirit – if the humorless chuckling inside his skull was any indicator.**

**The lights began to flicker on their torches. Dean's breath was a cold puff of visible smoke and the chattering of his teeth could not be muffled by grinding them, as he had been doing. At least – on the bright side – the sudden cold spot accounted for his shakes and he didn't need to hang on so hard. Damn good thing too as Dean was beginning to have trouble focusing his swimming vision.**

**Walls rippled to either side, like theatre curtains and the dancing lights promised that the show would be a good one. Suddenly announced by the Supernatural preamble of flashing lights and fading warmth; there she was, at the far end of the corridor. Dean's eyes were drawn to her young form – her sunny yellow dress fluttered in a non-existent breeze. Her long, straight brown hair, hung about her shoulders wet and slicked to her pretty, pale face. Her too large blue eyes held his as if she too could not look away. Her arms lay loosely at her side, and the defeated air she resonated tore at the hunters heart. It didn't belong there; of that he was certain. By nature she was a cautious creature, but scratch the surface and you had a lively, energetic eight year old, with a love of books and a passion for Snoopy.**

**The more he looked at her, the more the information seemed to flow, unbidden and unwanted. Her favorite color was yellow, it reminded her of the daffodils her dead mother would put on her bedside table. When she was three, her family took a trip to Coney Island, where they rode the dodgems till late. She had issues with gum ever since Martha Harding spit some in her hair at the snotty brat's seventh birthday party. One day she was going to travel across America in a pink Cadillac and go all the way down to San Francisco Bay. Her favorite food was the pasta her Mum used to cook on Sunday, mostly because her Mother let her help. They had a whole hour together in the tidy kitchen, with its warm and cozy feel and her Mother's porcelain thimble collection – just the two of them in the entire world, until ….**

**Dean shook his head hard, the twinge was growing steadily more painful as the memories flowed faster - they were not his memories, they were nothing to do with him … they forced their way through his consciousness, slicing through his awareness and binding his attention. He vaguely realized Sam was trying to pull his hands away from his bowed head as they both crouched on the floor. Sammy was calling his name and glancing in the direction of the girl.**

"**Do you see her?" Dean ground out.**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**He didn't hear the answer as the lights exploded in his head with all the gentleness of an angry volcano, and the new wave of memories assaulted him. **

**Sunday school, back of the class –**

_**(Don't ask me … please)**_

**Her eyes were glued to the smiling man at the front of the class, reading from the Children's Bible. Her copy, with the sticky cover from her sweaty palms, was clenched in both hands.**

"**Why don't you read on Dear?" **

**The inevitable dreaded request came to her from the smiling mouth, but the darkening in his eyes stole her breath away. **

"**I uh …" She started haltingly, the leaky nosed boy to her right shoulder started laughing.**

"**Come on child" the tone was slightly impatient "these are Gods words, surely you weren't day dreaming your way through them Ruth?"**

**The impatience was barely reigned in from crossing the border into anger … could the others hear it? Could they see his white knuckles, did they notice the angry vein in his neck, or the noise his terrible smiling teeth made? She wanted to run, fast and hard as she could – run all the way to California, to Los Angeles, to the city of the Angels where….**

**//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Sam had laid his brother down and into the recovery position. His limp form was racked with tremors and his breath was coming in shallow hurried gasps, but it was his eyes that scared the Holy crap out of his younger brother. The usually alert, ever watchful steely green gaze was disconnected and aside from the cold sweat breaking out on his drawn face – Dean Winchester had checked out. Sam began to reach for his mobile thinking to call for help from the one person who they had always counted on, and had always been able to reach. The same source of help they had walked out on an hour before. Sam prayed Jim had his 'other cheek' at the ready; but knew the answer to that already. Man down … all rules changed. While the call connected, Sam kept a watchful eye on the misty apparition at the far end of the corridor, it had remained stationary – whatever it was. The problem was; it didn't appear to need to move closer to exert its influence on Dean. Sam reached for the Holy Water and the iron poker they had "borrowed" from Jim's fireplace … just in case.**

**////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**The pictures continued to flow and they were now accompanied by smells and sensations – Dean had the feeling of being placed in his very own Scrooge nightmare. It was a fast, seemingly relentless ride that Dean was aware he was on, but equally aware; he was powerless to stop. This ride seemed to have another driver and the route being chosen was anything but smooth.**

**The schoolroom was stifling hot and uncomfortably fulfilling its purpose – the young boy felt suitably punished just by the thought of having to stay indoors on a day like today. The Princess wasn't looking in his direction. Apart from her pathological need to be strange and distance herself from the land of the Normal, (strikingly so, even for Dean's tastes) she gave no indication of existing in the same time and space as him. Being a social outcast was a subject Dean had authority on, but seeking out that plane of existence when you didn't have to – courting the cruel side of school society when your Daddy was so popular, he probably had the Mayor and Saint Peter on speed dial … well that was just grand standing, attention seeking crap in Dean's professional opinion!**

"**Don't you know**** anything**** about not getting caught, short bus?!" She hissed at him.**

**Dean's attention snapped round to the mouse who had just roared at him, with a look of utter shock.**

"**Yeah – you, I'm talking to you. God time must move slower in your world right?" she snarked.**

**His face reacted to the insults but his brain refused to catch up.**

"**What?"**

"**If you are going to be all damn rebellious, at least have the sense not to**** sign**** your handiwork … or go lateral confessing so others get caught out!"**

**His temper rose with the rearguard. "Listen space cadet, no one ****asked ****you for your thoughts on my world. I was trying to get out of here – why is my business … You should understand that once you've skipped school Barbie – it's usually a good idea to remove yourself from the building!"**

**Her violet blue eyes flashed angrily back at him. "Who said I was skipping school…"**

"**What were you doing – playing hide and seek with Mitchell? Better hiding spot than last time by the way."**

"**Screw you brain trust – I had that under control!"**

"**Oh yeah right" Dean scoffed "Psychic Barbie was repelling the mean bad boy with the power of her pout – nice vocab by the way … your Mother a sailor?!"**

**Her eyes; she spoke with her eyes; they betrayed the shadow of pain that passed too quickly across her closed features.**

"**She's dead" she said simply – what else was there to say?**

**Dean knew from experience that when you had to make that admission out loud, it changed everything. The person asking the stupid ass question, the circumstances, the consequences, your reality, the world – why complicate it, when it was served that way anyway? He dropped her gaze before he gave away his own past.**

"**Sorry to hear that" he mumbled.**

"**I don't need your pity, I can take care of myself" she snapped curtly.**

**He looked at her closely wondering why Betty Crocker's daughter would have the need to swear like a trooper or "take care" of anything herself. What could be so terrible in Boxborough, land of the Brady's? But he held his tongue, he had said enough already. The rest of the hour passed in amiable hostility – Ruth, that was her name; was a mouthy, sarcastic pain in his ass – he enjoyed his time immensely.**

**//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Lights flashed in a manic, disjointed way, Dean thought he may have cried out as the now searing pain kicked up a notch.**

**Mr Henley smiled indulgently at them both. Dean tried his best to copy Ruthie's angelic face. **

"**I have to say, you two do make quite the study buddies – Mrs Reynolds the Librarian says that very few young folk study as hard as you both – and on such a beautiful Sunday too. Are you sure you don't want an afternoon off Ruth? I am sure young Winchester here would love the chance to practice that swing at the cages … that was a mighty fine game last week son."**

"**Thank you sir, kind offer …"**

"**Sorry Dad, it's a great idea and you are kind, but I don't want to fall behind and Dean is very good at history – you know how I struggle to remember important things sometimes."**

**Dean kept his eyes on Henley but his ears picked it up easily – that subtext that seemed to crackle between Father and Daughter. Sometimes it was like a covert conversation from which he was excluded. There was a sharp edge to it that he might have called rebellion if not for …**

"**I want you to be proud of me Daddy."**

…**That – Daughter of the year strikes again, and judging from Henley's smiling response, Ruth had the ability to target her Father's ego like a Smart Bomb.**

**As they left and headed out towards the Library, they maintained a proper distance. Dean could feel the eyes on the back of his neck. **

**Looking straight ahead he asked, "How the hell do you manage to get Mrs Reynolds to cover for you?"**

"**For ****us****, el-Deano – for us! Well firstly it's only a half lie, as we are heading there, I have some stuff to work on …"**

"**Why the bible obsession – I know your Dad likes you to be head of the Sunday school squad and all but …"**

**As they rounded the corner, she turned and smiled sunnily at him. **

"**Come on Dean – I know you do what you have to, to keep your Father happy right? By the way where is Sammy?"**

"**He's with Pastor Jim. Hey do you think that's why Reynolds bends the rules for us? Your leading the Sunday school brigade and I live with the good Pastor – we are just so damn fine and upstanding!"**

**They both broke into a hale of laughter.**

**When she controlled her mirth Ruth shook her head. **

"**There's that – **_**and**_** the fact that I know which section the old Gin Hag keeps her stash in."**

**He threw her an incredulous look. "No Way! How could you know that?"**

"**I saw her one night through the window as she was locking up."**

**Dean shot her a puzzled look. Another warning bell seemed to be chiming. What was she doing out, alone at night, late enough to be spying on the librarian unseen? But Ruth was as evasive as he needed to be on certain topics.**

"**So where did you want to spend the afternoon?" Dean went on, smoothly as he could.**

"**The lake of course" she grinned recklessly, "you need the swimming practice."**

"**Ok, you did **_**not**_** just go there, I **_**taught**_** you to swim last week." **

"**Yeah, why did it take you so long to do that Merman … I thought you were a natural Jock ?!"**

"**Well smart-ass, the reasons are twofold; Firstly, I had to spend two weeks prying your nails out of my neck and shoulders. Secondly; swimming in your jeans and jumper makes it harder going – Aqua marina you are not!**

"**Skinny dipping is what your airhead groupies do Dean – Rachael what's her face … the water is cold, sometimes I think I will never stop shivering."**

**He watched Ruth's profile cautiously. There it was again, the half exposed second story that never quite surfaced. He never pushed it, after all he was sure there were times his cover story showed itself to be, just that. It didn't seem to matter to Ruthie. She accepted all the lame stories for the odd bruises he picked up while training with his Father, or the knife scar on his lower back, from the hunt in the woods last year. He could give her some space.**

**////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

"**Dean" Sam shook him harder with a desperate look lighting his eyes; his phone was pressed to his ear, as he held a second conversation.**

"**No he's conscious but unresponsive… please, please hurry … he's bleeding from his ears – Jim I am calling an Ambulance."**

**Dean groaned loudly, his head felt too heavy for his neck. "No hospitals."**

"**Jesus, Dean" Sam jumped almost dropping the phone and hastily removing his other hand from where it had been cradling his brothers face. "You scared the hell out of me – you collapsed … your bleeding and you ****ARE**** going to see a doctor…"**

"**Did you see her" the elder hunter demanded hoarsely "the girl in yellow?"**

"**I saw something" Sam started doubtfully, "could have been a figure – it was shadowy."**

"**Shadowy?" Dean asked incredulously, "You could make out the embroidered flowers on the hem of her dress!"**

**Sam regarded his brother with an appraising look. "It seems **_**you**_** could see her in Technicolor."**

**Dean tried to get up and away from the second odd look he'd received in as many days.**

_**(What the heck was wrong with everyone?)**_

**He tried and, as Sam's gigantic bear paws nailed him to the floor with relatively little effort; he failed.**

"**Stay down Dean, Jim's on his way."**

"**M'fine Sammy – we need to check out that end room."**

"**Like hell Dean – recon is over for tonight. You have two choices – let Jim look you over or hitch a ride with the paramedics. Damn it Dean, look at you!"**

**The eldest Winchester had been staring in the other direction, checking for any signs of the girls ghost – or whatever it had been – he failed to see the tall, pale man with shaved head, dressed in a similar non-descript manner to himself work his way up the last step.**

**The stealthy newcomer had gotten the drop on a distracted Sam too; he announced his presence by gently squeezing the younger man's shoulder and throwing him a confident grin. His cool grey eyes reflected his concern and his business-like manner simultaneously. He gently moved Sam away from his brother and knelt beside the downed man.**

"**How many fingers Winchester?" The new hunter asked in a soft but commanding southern drawl.**

**Dean's head whipped round to the familiar question, causing the room to swirl in a shift of nauseating colors. Even as he held on to his stomach with a swallow he couldn't hide, the older man gripped him round the shoulders to keep him upright. Swallowing the nasty taste in his mouth, Dean gruffed out the equally familiar response that was always accompanied by a middle finger salute.**

"**Just the one Caleb… what are you doing here?"**

**Caleb whose family history was steeped in medicine and hunting, was a paramedic by day. He did what came naturally to him and checked Dean's vitals as he spoke.**

"**Your Father thought I might be of use – you look like shit Junior." Caleb gently tilted Dean's head to get a better look. "How far out is your vision – halos or fuzzy lines?"**

"**Well there is only one of you now Bones" Dean quipped "help me up will you?"**

"**Whatever it is, it seems to be taking a time out right now kid, I suggest you do the same and let me work here." **

**Caleb never interrupted his ministrations whilst talking, he spared Sam a glance.**

"**Good to see you Sam – this Moron surely did need to borrow your common sense a few times back there… there's only so many times I can put Humpty back together again you know."**

**Though the comment was made without a glimmer of accusation, Sam found himself shifting guiltily from one leg to the other.**

"**Yeah well…"**

**He was saved from further explanation by the return of the phantom light show; bulbs began to crackle dangerously, like some demented creature was inside them clawing wildly to get out. Caleb looked up in time to avoid a hurtling frame stripped off the walls by the unnatural wind that chilled their breaths. He covered Dean with his body and flung Sam to the side with an outstretched, backward arm. **

"**Move Sam!" he bellowed as he tried to drag Dean back towards the steps.**

**Dean struggled against the burly paramedics grasp. "This is not over Caleb!"**

"**For you it is Sundance – do you even know what it is? Go in smart or not at all remember?!"**

"**Her name is Ruth and I need to find out a few things from her … get your fucking hands offa me Dr Feelgood!"**

"**Sam" Caleb barked out in a tone that commanded and brooked no argument. Their Fathers tone.**

**Sam snapped to, grabbing the other shoulder, as his brother continued to struggle.**

**The gathering gloom at the far end of the corridor began to solidify. Dean opened his mouth to yell a warning to the other two, who were both facing the stairs, when he felt a strong gust push both men forward and almost down the steps. Their twin cries mobilized him and he rolled painfully to the left intending to use the wall to push himself up and go to the aid of his brother and friend. In the middle of this maneuver he glanced down the hall and his heart froze. There she was looking directly at him as her lips began to move.**

"**I know you" she murmured in a bemused echo of whispers, more to herself than the fallen hunter.**

**The lights flicked wildly, weather in warning or wild applause that the spirit had caught her prey – he was not certain. But even as Sam screamed his name from the stairs and Caleb ordered him to haul ass, she blurred across the floor towards him. Something about the open look in her eyes and the trust in her face made him stay, stilled his .45 and allowed her to enter his personal space. In his acid trip, spaced out state, he still registered Sam's frantic yelling and the last lucid corner of his mind took up that call, but in truth he knew it was too late. **

**End Notes:**

**Are you still with me - too much / not enough? Let me know ... I can take it ! *Grabs cushion to hide behind!***


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 by CdeWinter78**

**Author's Notes:**

**RATINGS; ****This chapter is more deserving of the M rating than the others - both for language and content.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** Supernatural is the property of Kripkie and the CW - my ramblings don't effect this .... just the rest of my life and my daydreams!!!!**

**A/N:**** This Chapter has been a long time coming - my apologies for that, I have written this a number of times and hope that this version doesn't make you all want to scream and throw your computer's at the wall - like it's early incarnations made me feel!!!!! I have introduced my version of the Caleb character and named him Caleb Brolin - in my mind there is no finer portrait of this character than Ridley James' Caleb Reaves, so due to my immense admiration for her talents - I hope you all will excuse the odd Reaveism that may turn up?!!**

**So all that said on to chapter five.... **

**Chapter Five**

_"**Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you, For where ever you go, I will go; Wherever you lodge, I will lodge;Where you die, I will die, And there will I be Lord do so to me, and more also, If anything but death parts you and me."**___

_**The Book of Ruth V; 1 L; 16 – 17.**_

**He should have moved quicker – he should have slung Dean over his shoulders… He should have knocked the idiot out and dragged him away, before the debate became an argument, and the argument a battle of wills, and the battle a lost cause. He should have driven quicker – called Jim sooner, asked for their location and then asked the old Pastor to lock the boys down till he got there. As he watched the small apparition work over his friend in front of his eyes, Caleb Brolin fought with all his might and managed only to break even … managed to not take the trip down the stairs, the phantom air seemed to be insisting both he and Sam experience firsthand. He knew Sam was fairing about as well as he was, he looked on knowing the only form of support either of them were able to offer Dean just then, could be found in any sympathetic Hallmark card. Caleb cursed John Winchester and his damned secrets! This ferocious child's spirit, was not throwing a random tantrum, if that were the case she had three rag dolls she could tumble at will. No, she was determinedly pulling Dean's wings off. She had lured him in, played on his need to save every mother loving thing he could; and then she had him. Dean was no fool – stubborn, mule headed jackass, yes… but he was a skilled and canny hunter, Caleb was quite proud of the small hand he had played in bringing that about. This girl knew just where to push – for all Caleb knew she may have been working on Dean for days now. More to it, Dean knew her – knew her name… had shared a history with her, whatever it was he wanted to ask her, it wasn't answers she was handing out – it was punishment. Brolin heard Sam's renewed struggles in response to his brother's pained cries, and he re-doubled his own efforts – this wasn't a game and this chick was in need of a permanent time out.**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Her touch on his cheek was like several deadly winters, when spring was missing in action, and summer was a myth. Frigid fingers burned as they warred with his body's natural impulse to warm itself. He must have gasped or cried out and he felt his back arch obediently towards her, bending at a painful angle. His brother yelled frantically, this time at the small apparition. Her face dissolved in the instant she made contact with him, into a vicious snarl. She flexed her small hand and he felt her nails bite into his skin. He flinched as her mouth climbed into a grotesque perversion of the cherub expression she had worn seconds before. Her eyes were hungry insatiable hollows, bottomless in their cruelty. She bent her snarling face to his.**

"**I owe you Winchester". She whispered fierce and low. "It's good to know your as gullible now as you were then" she hissed in a derisive tone.**

"**Ruth" he choked out hearing the thumping of his racing heart in his own ears.**

**She laid her other hand on him roughly capturing his face, he felt his body jerk and the spasms began in his chest until soon his whole body twitched uncontrollably. He wasn't at her mercy – he was slave to her smallest whim, and young as she was, she had, had time to devise ever more adult punishments for him. **

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Time appeared to be suspended in the palm of Ruth's hand; moving only as she would have it move. Dean had that sensation of falling into himself. Falling and landing sloppily, because everything hurt, his skin crawled and he fought the urge to itch it, as it burned red raw and too tight. His mind was now the very definition of gibbering wreck – his last illusion of defense was gone, she had laid claim to him in a similar way he imagined Demons possessed their hosts. Nothing he had done, thought, felt or touched, was hidden from her, places he dared not go in his own mind she dragged him down, kicking and screaming as he went. She laughed as she held him; as close as a lover but as far away as one would a vile rotten and putrid thing, so that she could take in every flicker of emotion her torturous path through his memories, drew from him. He saw himself through her eyes – it was the most unnatural sensation he had ever encountered. His soul rent itself apart as he fought to hide and, lay bear all his sins, all his secrets – at the same time. She took time and pleasure in reacquainting herself with him, with all of him, the sum of his whole life.**

**////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**He cried at his mother's funeral – he screamed that night, all night long, until he drove his Father from the room with his cries igniting six month old Sammy's wails. He blamed Daddy for sending Mummy away – for not bringing her with them. When it became clear he could wail forever but his Father was not coming back with his Mother … and perhaps now, not at all, he quietened down. A numbness began to grow in his heart as he watched the baby with its little purple face, and snot and tear mingled cheeks. He walked over to the travel cot and blew in his brother's face. The startled child stopped crying immediately and once it caught it's breath it returned Dean's gaze look for look. As he reached his hand into the bed to pull up the covers, his young brother seized his thumb in a grip that Dean was certain, meant that Sammy had super powers – it was so strong. The four year old stayed very still as Sam continued to look at him – waiting to see what he'd do next. **

"**Don't worry Sammy" Dean whispered, "You can hold my hand if your scared, I won't let go ok?"**

**When John Winchester came back an hour later with a bag carrying every pain relief med that was suitable for a four year old child, a super sized box of tissues and a sleek black toy car resembling his own, he found both his sons asleep. One snoring away in the cot, the other slumped at the most awkward looking angle, with his hand still in the baby's grasp. The tears came from nowhere and for the only time following Mary's death, John cried in front of his sons. He lifted Dean into the travel cot next to Sam, feeling right down to his boots, that to break that hold would be the most shameful thing he had ever done. **

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**He was moved again through time. She called the shots; he was merely a passenger as they skimmed through the years where his life and hunting became more intricately entwined. She witnessed his loss of bodily functions as he froze on his first hunt; when the toothy Mother fucker was only taken down by Bobby Singers dead-eye shot. She settled to watch a hunt in Missouri, when an eight year old Dean had the dubious honor of car watching four year old Sam. Caleb Brolin, (who was three years older than Dean) had been given their only weapon; whilst their Fathers had taken off on the three mile hike to catch up with the werewolf. **

"**Last night to catch this sucker" Caleb mumbled as a howl tore the night, far too close for comfort.**

"**There's no way Dad will let that thing escape to kill again" Dean asserted as he smiled at Sam warmly and reached over to turn the volume on his walkman up a notch; so that they could all share in Ernie's Sesame Street ducky obsession. **

**From outside there came a gravelly snarl, as a dark hairy weight, landed savagely on the hood, on all fours. Dean and Caleb screamed, the younger boy drew the covers over his baby brother's head and pinned it there whilst holding the boy as comfortingly as he could with his shaking arms. **

"**Ok, Oh God – uhhh" Caleb floundered for a moment. He reached over to the steering wheel grasping for the key, "Where the fucking, fuck are the fucking keys dude?" Brolin's disbelieving screech demanded of him.**

**Dean's eyes would not move away from the still indistinguishable form now clawing at the glass and scraping out a noise that made his nerves jump higher than the hairs on the back of his neck.**

"**Dad must have them" he answered in a mesmerized tone.**

"**Well that is just fucking great – is there anything that man loves more in the world than this piece of junk car?!!!" Caleb yelled.**

**As if in a trance and being moved by the force Dean reached over and grabbed the gun Caleb had seemingly forgotten. "Yeah - Sammy." He answered in a level voice that held no emotion.**

**In a swift movement he opened the car door, as Caleb's blood curdling cry for him to "Come, the Hell Back" caught in his ear. He was all anesthetized emotions and deadly grace as he shot the thing once. **

**Caleb had moved to back up his friend and exited seconds later than the bullet Dean let off. He pushed backwards sending both of them to the floor in a miscalculated maneuver that he had intended to protect Dean with. Luck was with them, as Dean's shot not only narrowly missed Brolin, but seemed to have hit home – permanently stopping the noise from the front of the vehicle. As the two young boys moved themselves up quickly on arms used to many hundreds of push ups, Caleb tried to keep Dean behind him; but failed. The bloodied body on the hood had reverted, what was remaining of its face and the smooth lily white naked body that painted the hood like road kill, proclaimed it had been a woman. Crimson painted her flowing blonde hair like vibrant ribbons, tumbling down towards the floor where they pooled, spilled and collected in a messy gory puddle of brains and bone. Caleb rested a hand on Deans quivering shoulder, trying to will the warmth he had left to the younger boy.**

"**You saved our lives Dean" he croaked, his throat constricted.**

"**She has hair like Mummy's" Dean murmured before turning on his heel and falling to the floor where he expelled the contents of his stomach. **

**Caleb held him and kept an eye out for an ever increasingly inquisitive Sammy. Just incase he peaked from beneath the covers. Dean was aware what his friend was trying to do for his little brother – and even as he dry heaved again he could not help but feeling grateful that Brolin got it. Every child should have that last small corner of their mind that allowed room for them to shelter; space to believe that the monsters were not real and could not get them under that magic blanket. He himself had peeked out too soon and now all he had was damned knowledge!**

**Dean heard a sigh in his present - he knew it was Ruth.**

**Her voice was much like his had been in the car. "You were a killer long before you met me then? I wanted to know why you did what you did. I see it now – you are like **_**him**_**, in some ways, but like me in many more – I remember now that was why I liked you, you never lied about your monsters to me …. It was plain you had them in your life, takes one to know one I guess…. But you promised me you would stay; you said you and your super hero Dad could save me. I didn't believe you, but you believed, and Daddy always said Faith can save. But I didn't expect you to do what you did either….." **

**She let out a cold laugh, "Well you showed me yours, now I'll show you mine…"**

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**This time it was different, he wasn't watching Ruth's life, he was participating in it. Dean was not hiding in the cupboard, he was cowering in front of it – out in the open unprotected, watching yet another monster come towards him snarling whilst showing his teeth. His mind – the part that didn't feel tied down like a dead weight- screamed at him to run, that nothing good could come of staying put. Her thoughts, her memories started to leak in – they were a heart in your mouth jumble of pure fear and unbridled rage. Her remembered self, still had all the tastes and sensations of the fear her Father had instilled in her, whilst her disembodied awareness, still boiled with the knowledge of past injustices, that kept her tied to this plane of existence. **

**As the beating began and Dean felt his eye blackened almost immediately with the full force of a grown man's fist, he recoiled at the sound of her high pitched laughter.**

"**This reminding you of that last bar brawl, before you came to Boxborough? Your Daddy may have not been dishing it out El Deano, but he was the cause wasn't he?!"**

"**You shut up " Dean yelled defiantly, or at least what he hopped was a yell of defiance and not a whimper, as he felt the choking grip that bounced his head off the wall behind him. A stream of biblically punctuated curses hailed on him – Jezebel being one of the few he caught or recognized.**

**Her Father's voice was hissed forcefully out of his drunken mouth, even as the hefty deputy spat profanity's in Dean's face. He caught a description of himself that he knew was not meant as a character reference when it was followed by words like hooligan and cocky little bastard! Dean tried to raise his arm up in defense only to receive a backhander that any Harley loving Mother would have been proud of … except of course if it had been delivered to an eight year old girl, as this one had! **

'**I never left you through this Ruth – I was right there with you" Dean attempted to reason with the young spirit.**

"**Oh that's right…." Her tone had a dangerously sharp edge to it. "Dean Winchester ….. My hero…. How could I forget what a loyal puppy you are – except, I am not from the family you **_**belonged**_** to; am I Deano?"**

**/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**He was himself again – it was pitch black and cold. Even running for their lives as the three of them were, couldn't quite heat his blood. Sammy was here, that bastard had pushed his little brother down, he had beaten nine bells out of Ruthie and Dean was pretty sure Dad would break out the grenades, if he ever let on who had given him the shiner that he could feel coming up on his left eye socket. Dean could feel his throat constrict hard – he knew where he was and he could not go there – not now not ever again!**

"**Oh but you will Winchester" her nasty tone promised him " Nothing that my Daddy did to me this night even comes close to what you did does it?" **

"**God Noooo!" Dean screamed, both past and present selves united in their terror. "Please Ruth – I can't, please I never meant it to happen like that……"**

"**You know bringing God into it at this point just pisses me off don't you?! And you do remember – at least some of it, but I need you to see it all Dean. You in all your Judas glory – so there is no doubting corner of your cowardly mind that is unsure of exactly how much you owe me!!" Her voice continued to rise in pitch as she talked, and her fevered tone became more deadly and self-assured.**

**///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////SN/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////**

**Suddenly she released him screaming harshly as the Holy Water, Sam flung at her, bubbled its way across her face. It was followed by the iron poker that Caleb had grabbed out of Sam's hands. As the pure iron contacted her seemingly solid form, she howled and began to dissolve, enveloping the metal, but being unable to repel it – she disappeared.**

**The lights returned and Caleb's too warm fingers sought out the pulse point at his neck. All Dean could manage in compliance to his friend's demands for a response was a series of rapid blinking motions, his blood was racing and his lungs burned as he tried to draw labored breaths. He sensed more than heard Sam's panicked questions fired at the Paramedic come Hunter. He couldn't make out Caleb's response but guessed from the way he felt his airway being cleared, that things were not going to plan. The segment of his mind that seemed frozen in shock, still felt fused to Ruth's consciousness. As she continued to cry and curse he half reached out to her, but his hand connected with a warm grip that he had held onto for most of his life. Sam's hand was strength and stability when Dean's world tilted so far off kilter that he actually let it show. His brother's firm grip was all the mooring he needed to attune the greater portion of his senses to Caleb and the here and now.**

"**Come on, come on – just give me some sign here kiddo." Caleb pleaded.**

**The gasping hiss the other man let out was akin to a diver breaking surface after having run out of air, and as he jackknifed into a sitting position Caleb caught the other man easily. Dean's head rested against his shoulder, whilst his body seemed to lack the energy to move, Brolin sought out Sam's frightened eyes.**

"**We are leaving" was his simple statement of fact.**

**This time as Sam came over to take his brothers left arm across his broad shoulders, there was no protest from the elder Winchester. In fact when the blonde hunter's head fell backwards for a moment, Caleb's breath caught. For a second the features he knew almost as well as his own, distorted – but it was a milliseconds illusion, and he couldn't quite place his finger on what had alarmed him about Dean's appearance. Certainly the look Dean shot him briefly before he fell into unconsciousness, hanging brokenly between his brother and his friend, unnerved Caleb; Dean looked scared. In all the time he had known him, Sundance had never admitted his fears, he rolled off that cocky "I'm always fine", bullshit as often as that irritating shit eating smirk. Dean's game face was his most impenetrable defense. The man Caleb Brolin had seen behind that wall was petrified, and had signaled the retreat with his pleading eyes alone. **

**When they had cleared the stairs and were on the home stretch, exit in sight, Brolin's mind pinpointed what it was about Dean that had almost made him retract his hands and reach for the salt. Dean's eyes. For the briefest moment Dean's eyes had been a startling violet blue. Caleb shivered, drawing a look from Sam, he ducked his head in response – not subtle, but really who could deal with more than one screwed to hell problem at a time? He needed to speak to Jim. The old Pastor may draw the line at the blood letting chapters of the Hunters Handbook, but when it cam to Intel or information, there was no finer mind than Murphy's. Caleb needed to know everything that had happened to Dean since setting foot in Boxborough, and he needed to get the kid to safe ground … and pray that he had been mistaken in what he had seen.**

"**Is he going to be ok Caleb?" Sam's voice cut through his panic, sounding small and betraying the tall hunters Achilles heel.**

**Caleb gave the boy his best armor plated grin, "You know ole Sundance, he's always fine."**

**Sam smiled at the effort on the other man's part. "You need to know everything that's happened, don't you?"**

**Brolin grinned genuinely. "When did you start to use the Hunter's psychic link?"**

**Sam brought the hand supporting his brothers back up in an unconscious motion to gently grip Dean's neck, as he answered "Since he came to Stanford dragged me off the sidelines and let me watch his back for him."**

**Caleb didn't answer, but some of the frost that had grown in his feelings towards Sam since Stanford, melted away. **

**End Notes:**

**As always your thoughts and reviews are utterly appreciated. I hope it translated clearly enough from my head to the screen! Thanks for reading and your patience with this story.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:**

**RATINGS;**** Mostly for language, and some content in this chapter.**

**DISCLAIMER;**** The Winchesters are the creation of the talented Mr Kripke. Caleb Brolin is my take of a Season one character - though I have to tip my hat to the awesome and artful portrait that Ridley James and her Caleb Reeves (who is a firm favourite of mine, and may seep in unwittingly!). Ruth is all mine though - hmmm let's see that leaves me standing, in the corner with the psychotic dead brat ... not great planning on your part Abi?!!!!**

**A/N; ****I know I must begin with a ****huge**** sorry to any who I have kept waiting - no I did not leave the planet, though I have been struggling with this story. Thank you to all who have the patience of a host of Saints, for carrying on reading this piece. This chapter is shorter, and I am holding back on the showdown, because I don't want to rush it (in this case out of guilt!!!!!!).... But that will come along in the next chapter - due this YEAR I promise!!!! LOL, no sooner!!!! Hope you enjoy - all feedback welcome, I will now go back to the stocks and await the rotten fruit!!!!! **

**Chapter 6**

_"**Sam…for you or for Dad – the things I am willing to do or kill … just scares me sometimes" **_**_Dean Winchester S1~Devil's Trap._**

**Dreams had always been a safety valve for him. They filtered out the jumble of scarring, harsh emotions that marked him even as he fought not to react to them. Dean Winchester had learnt from a very young age that he never remembered his dreams – once he had suffered through them, through the night. His mind simply deleted them in the morning. His memory then worked like a failsafe, letting go of all, but the cold details. It was how he coped with what he saw, what he felt … what he was often forced to do. When he dreamed, he dreamed vividly – his processing mind capturing in minute detail the entirety of his experiences, compensating for the deadlock hold he kept on himself during the event. He could not afford to react to anything other than what needed to be done. Emotions were distractions and luxuries. Dean's mask didn't only shield him from being discovered by the world; it protected him from himself. The mask was probably the reason, that sensitive, shy, wide eyed, four year old, had survived his life. It was also the reason he could never go back. Loose the mask, lose himself.**

**Right now that was exactly where Dean was – he was lost. Lost in time, lost in a vivid dream world of his minds own making, and Ruth's controlling. His thoughts and memories were like her sandbox where she hid and played. On the journey back to Jim's Church, Dean had drifted in and out of the real world. He was in the back of the Impala, with all its smells of home. Lying with his head cradled in Sammy's arms, he felt like he had passed on already. Caleb was driving whilst yelling questions and instructions over his shoulder, eyes leaving the road ahead to try and gauge any changes in the slack form in the backseat. Sam's heartbeat was fast and loud in his ears, and his voice was slightly muted by the thumping sound. **

**He tried at first to warn Sammy of the stow away he was harbouring. But his words ran together and tripped his tongue till he had Sam uttering soothing sounds near his ear and brushing a gentle path through his sweat soaked hair. Dean would have screamed in frustration if it hadn't been for the fits of laughter, his efforts were already rewarding Ruth with. She was so unconcerned with his attempts at raising the alarm that she merely stood to one side and watched. **

**He spun round to confront her, and abruptly realised that she was only a little below his eye line. She smiled knowingly at him with a small challenging arch to her eyebrow; the look gave an artificial glow to her pale, wan face.**

"**Problem there – el Deano?" she asked sweetly, looking him up and down.**

"**What do you want Wednesday? You need to screw a little payback out of me – go ahead; but leave them out of it!"**

**Even as he spoke he realised that his voice was high and lacking its normal depth, Dean knew instinctively that she had changed the playing field – he was ten years old again.**

" **And by '**_**them**_**' you, of course, mean Sam – don't you?" she asked fiercely her violet eyes flashing dangerously. "Cause Sasquatch is the very centre of your whole damned world right?!"**

**When all she drew from him was a confused frown she seemed to calm herself. The look that drew across her face was almost feline; the predator in her realised that she wasn't savouring the best moments of the chase.**

"**So I recognise this Jim they want to take you to. I've visited the hypocritical preacher, from time to time. From afar of course – I don't want to dirty myself with his sanctimonious sanctuary …"**

" **Oh don't be shy darlin' … if those three corpses are any indication of your handiwork, your plenty **_**dirty**_** already! As for stepping on that Holy Ground – I wouldn't do it if I were you, human self combustion may be rare, but instant evil bitch exorcisms – who knows?!"**

"**You wouldn't do it if you were me****?!" she shrieked loosing all semblance of self control and rationality.**

**Dean cried out clutching his head and doubling over. The space around him turned lurid red and became increasingly brighter. She was in complete control of the landscape of his mind; if he had ever joked about it before, this time it was for real … his mind was a **_**Dangerous place to be**_**! His mouth opened to scream out his pain again as she continued to wail at him, her abuses lost except for the odd phrase.**

"**Your life is as big a lie as mine was … You ****really**** believe that you are the hero in this piece Dean?! You promised on the Good Book - Where I go … where I lodge – only death will part us … remember?" **

**Her voice was an unnatural chorus, several tones strained in one voice box, each vying to get at him first. **

**He was on his knees now, head touching the floor, the light burned, her voice burned, he was on fire. Guilt warred with pain and some awful feeling of dread that hammered against him from all sides, demanding that he look up and acknowledge what he saw. His ears hurt, and he realised that the blood now flowing freely from them mingled easily with the salty tears that rained down from his tightly clenched eyes. He opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, to plead with her, but the involuntary scream that escaped his lips shook his entire body and went on and on until his throat was raw and air began to become scarce. **

"**You think you are better than me solider boy?" Ruth asked coldly. She appeared to have reached the dangerous other side of her rage. "You think you'd have been different in my shoes? You know why that is don't you … You know where your surety comes from – your utter faith that you have the right of things, and that I deserve to be put down?"**

**She smiled as she knelt beside him and cupped his chin in her soft hands with a delicate lifting motion that made his skin crawl.**

" **It comes from that great blank your mind draws when you think of that night; it comes from your ignorance Dean."**

**He had started to shake violently; there was a blackness that had grown around them both. Suddenly, from it's very depths a cry sounded. It was his voice and it gave expression to a sickening desolation, an absolute loss of hope, of light – of everything. He shook his head, while his eyes pleaded with her, bearing all the frailty he was unable to shield here, behind his own defences.**

"**No … please?" he whispered repeatedly "Don't"**

"**No?" she scoffed "That's it? That's all you got – not very convincing. Now Mitchell, there was a man who made begging an art form! Even McKinley was quite amusing, with his bulging eyes … At one point I was convinced that if I slapped the back of his head just right – I'd get some fine trophies … but then Psycho's collect body parts, and I am not a Psycho."**

**Keeping an unwilling eye on the inky blackness that enfolded them, Dean drew a shaky breath. **

" **What are you then Ruth" his voice quivered "the executioner?"**

"**No" She looked at him with the first familiar expression he had seen on her face; the look of the lost, helpless child in his dreams who had begged him to stay. "No Dean, that would be you – I was the lamb."**

**His very blood froze, turning to ice, as his hammering heart stalled in its attempts to pump it round his body. Even as he screamed his denial, a dawning began to grow on him – a painful breaking of a barrier that had shielded him from the light outside. He knew to the pit of his stomach that what she had said was true. As he felt the bile and self loathing crawl up from his stomach to be heaved out by his throat, he saw the scene change. He was in Boxborough on August 8th; sixteen years ago.**

**\\\\\\\\\\\\\SN\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\**

**Getting Dean's semi-conscious ass down the narrow flight of stairs to the lower floor of Henley's house had been tricky. Sam's mind wandered to his earlier conversations about the beauty of New England architecture, and he shook his head, huffing ironically to his out of it sibling. **

"**It may be a Fairytale setting, but you sure as hell 'aint no dainty Fairy Princess!"**

**He heard Caleb let out a ragged laugh behind them as he followed; guarding the rear with Dean's shotgun; against Dean's phantom playmate. They had managed to drive Ruth's spirit back with a mixture of Holy water, iron and raw defiance, in their need to get to Dean. The state they'd found the hunter in, had shaken them both. Sam was more than ready to fall in behind Caleb when the eldest hunter sounded the retreat. Whatever it took, to get Dean as far away from the danger that Ruth seemed to pose him. **

**His brother remained motionless when Caleb loaded him into the back seat with Sam, hurriedly checking his vitals one last time.**

"**His heart rate and blood pressure is way too high Sammy – keep him comfortable and calm. His temperature keeps spiking and I need to get him to Jim's place to work out what that bitch has done to him. God Damn but she is due one sack full of salt and a massive bonfire!"**

**Sam took his instructions in but his attention was rapt in his brother's face and the small flinching gesture he thought he'd seen.**

"**Sam" Caleb called again giving his shoulder a gentle but firm shake, "you with me? I said I need you to describe any changes in his condition to me ok?"**

"**Sure" Sam gave his tight-lipped compliance.**

**As Caleb got behind the Impala's wheel he caught sight Sam's worry lined face in the rear view.**

"**Hey kid, we been to worse places than this." **

**He didn't wait for a reply he had switched into EMT mode now; his priority was to get Dean to the Pastor.**

**Sam heard Caleb's assurances for what they were – manly hand holding; but right now the cargo he carried pressed close to his chest wrapped in both his arms, deserved both their attention. Dean was shivering and sweating at intervals, his skin was pallid and clammy and his breathing had become more erratic as they gunned down the road, his lips moved and the more agitated he got, the more Sam became convinced Dean was trying to say his name. But weather in pain or warning, the young hunter couldn't tell. So he carried on making gentle noises and brushing his brothers hair. He paused briefly to take Dean's racing pulse and peel his eyelids back to take a look at his bloodshot, full-blown pupils. **

" **Don't let him move too much Sam, damn it – I need to bring that fever down, we can't risk him seizing."**

**Sam reached around Dean's stocky frame dipped into his inner jacket pocket, and pulled out Bobby's flask. Ripping a section of his T-shirt sleeve he wet it in Dean's good Whisky and held it to his brother's neck and forehead. Sam smiled at Caleb's hearty approval and offer of a reference, but it was short lived as the first scream tore from the blonde hunter's lips. Sam shook within himself at the anguish he heard – his grip on Dean tightened; as if by touch alone he could leech away the misery plaguing his older brother.**

"**Caleb, what the hell is going on – he's getting worse!" Sam demanded, his voice high and frantic over Dean's cries.**

**He fought the elder Winchesters animated struggles and tried to pull Dean's hands away from his head.**

**Caleb's voice was clear and steady as he barked. "Keep it together Sam – Dean needs you! Now talk me through it Sammy – just like the old days … pulse?"**

"**Way, way up, his breathing is shallow and rapid…"**

"**Ok try and turn him slightly to ease up any pressure on his chest. I am about five minutes from Jim's – he knows we are coming in and will meet us."**

**Sam's heart was in his throat, so he was having trouble forming words over the lump and instead mutely obeyed the Paramedic in the drivers seat. All the Winchesters had, at some point or other, put their lives in Brolin's hands; but there was something about this hunt that made Sam a hundred times more reluctant to loose his connection with Dean for anybody, maybe not even the good Pastor. It was like De-ja-vu, growing up together with all his Father's strange allies, locked trunks, closed doors and tight reins – he and Dean, alone, against the world. Even as Sam's mind touched the past, his fingers traced a wet track flowing freely down Dean's cheek. To his great alarm and terror his brother was not crying but bleeding heavily from his ears.**

"**Jesus Christ Caleb – he's bleeding; it's gushing from his, his ears …"**

"**Easy Sammy, we're here." Caleb yelled even as he dove from the car and grabbed for the back door nearest Dean's feet.**

**In what struck Sam as the smoothest movement he'd ever witnessed, Brolin produced a small penlight and proceeded to peel Dean's eyelids back.**

"**This is not the example I would want you setting for your snotty little brother Sundance." Caleb muttered to Dean as he laid his ear close to the downed hunter's lips. "His symptoms don't correlate Sam – I am pretty sure they are Supernatural in origin, and Jim can confirm this.**

**As he spoke Caleb used the alcohol soaked strip to clear the blood from his friends cheeks. Dean groaned loudly and started to shake violently.**

"**Shit" Brolin swore.**

**He struggled to get Dean out of the car and into the house, because even at night two men and a twitching body would cause some suspicion. When he and Sam finally managed to clear the car and Caleb saw Jim standing at the door like some Holy goalpost, and it was about this point that Hell actually cut loose. **

**Dean's back arched violently and both men almost lost their grip on him. Caleb decided to try to take matters, and Dean, into his own hands. Barrelling slightly past Sam, he pulled Dean across his shoulders; not an easy feat considering how the kid was bucking and wailing in his fitful nightmarish state. Sam let loose a tirade of unpleasentaries that were mostly banned from the Scrabble board - which Caleb took no notice of. He barely got Dean indoors when the boy kicked into full on convulsions; back vaulting high into the air, and head cracking off the ground with a sickening sound. Sam finally got his panties unbunched and slid in the back door like he was taking the home plate, in order to slide his jacket under his brother's head. Sundance was repeating two words – when the gagging noise the seizure he was having, didn't get in the way. It made Caleb cringe to hear the broken boy with the man's voice pleading with an unseen tormentor.**

"**No-o …P,Please."**

"**Caleb?" Jim begged and demanded in a growl that did not fit the normally placid demeanour of the clergyman.**

**Caleb had heard one word convey many meanings before. In his line of work, pain often made people more succinct – squeezing loaded meaning out of every syllable; "Help…God … Stop." Dean's choice of words hit home hard with Caleb. He knew this kid. Hell he'd grown up alongside him and after many misadventures; Brolin knew Dean would rather burn up than give in. Anything that drew that kind of submission from him, had to be horrific and the veteran Paramedic shivered involuntarily.**

**Brolin locked eyes with Jim Murphy; the clergyman's uncharacteristic panic was because of his affection for the young man in front of them. Touching as that was, it was of no help to Dean and no use to Caleb – he needed steely, unshakable Jim Murphy, who had forgotten more about hunting than most hunters had managed to Journal in a decade. He knew what he had seen back Henley's house, and he thought he knew what that meant, however he needed more information. Keeping his gaze steadily on the Pastor who pointedly avoided eye contact, Caleb began to wonder if the clergyman knew more on this occasion, than even Brolin gave him credit for.**

**End Notes:**

**Dun - Dun - DUNNNNN!!!!!!!! As always would love to know your thoughts, next chapter is the reveal and I anticipate a reckonning in the following and probably last chapter. Thank you for taking the time to follow this - hope it entertained!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7-

_**(August 8**__**th**__** 1989- Boxborough Massachusetts)**_

He tried anyway he knew how – with all his heart and soul, to remember anything other than what he had just seen. He had torn himself in two battling the need to run to her aid and the conflicting desire to run as far from her as he could. This world was not new to him – but he was out of Sync in it. Some small corner of his mind told him it was 2005, and that this was an action replay and not Real Time. However Ruth's recreation of her final day was perfect. The sights, smells, sounds and emotions that they stirred in him were overwhelming. He had found himself back in her claustrophobic cupboard twenty minutes ago. Dean felt the fear, the guilt and the shame at keeping his promise to stay hidden, mingle with the cold sweat and coursing tears. Feeling frozen to the very core of his being, he ran his hands over his arms in a futile warming motion, and checked that he had not somehow become dislodged from his body. The inability to act was made ten times worse by the inability to think in a straight line. So here he remained; stuck on the sidelines as a time long passed, past him by once more.

As far as prison cells went, the small flower print on the walls and the dainty white French style furniture was deceiving. But then gilded cages served only one purpose – to trap its occupant and look good whilst performing its true function. Dean couldn't take his eyes off the spot on the wall he had mapped out twenty minutes earlier, when the harsh world he knew turned really ugly. The pale gap between the tiny daffodils and the small daisies absorbed him. In the same way the wall paper had absorbed her blood. His mind was struggling with the details and for some reason his eyes refused to move towards her limp, sobbing form, though his every functioning instinct demanded that he go to her and get them both the hell away from here. Who knew Hell came with pristine house keeping, white picket fences, and a well manicured lawn. But that was exactly the cover Deputy Henley deployed to hide beneath. Monsters were beginning to look more and more reasonable to the young boys eyes … because people were nuts!

Dean had told her he would stay – she had made him promise to remain hidden and not come out "No matter what". He thought it had BIG MISTAKE written all over it at the time, but she had pulled out _the look_ and made him swear with a verse from the Bible that she toted around everywhere with her. Dean didn't hold with religion much since his Mother died and his Father had drawn back the curtain on the **real **world, but Ruthie believed; it meant a lot to her …. And she had come to mean a lot to him. The verse had been from the Book of Ruth, and the words seemed to comfort her. He vaguely remembered her saying her Mother used to read it to her.

There was a small sobbed intake of breath that caught his attention. It was Ruth and when the noise came again, he realized her broken voice was calling his name.

The door was flung outwards; he roughly scrapped a sleeve across his tear streaked face and all but ran to her. Dropping to his knees he laid a tentative hand on her back and promptly withdrew it as she flinched. He had no idea where she was hurt or how badly. When he tended his Father after the bad hunts, it was different, the fact that his Dad had crawled back home on his feet or his knees, paid testament to the fact that he had won. Ruth had lost – emphatically. Dean tending his Father was a functional clean up at the end of a battle that provided Dean with some measure of relief. He could lay hands on his Superhero Dad and help him in some way to lay his pain aside. But as he tenderly directed Ruth with small touches and the earnest look in his eyes, to move so that he could examine the extent of her injuries – the functional action only disturbed him more.

Her eyes were locked on his. The trust written there was so compelling it broke his heart. Considering the level of betrayal she had just experienced; he felt unworthy of the light in her eyes. She refused to look away from him. Maybe she was afraid to look down to see the proof of what her Father had done. Although after taking a beating or two in his time, Dean knew that _feeling_ it, must have been a bitch! The bruise pattern mostly concentrated round her chest, sides and legs; a calculated, precise attack. Henley mostly ventured to use his open hand on areas that were exposed to the world. Apart from his initial blow which had been a full fisted hammer blow that had painted her eye. Her nose was severely bloodied but not broken and there was an impressive palm print on the right side of her face. As far as he could tell nothing was broken – maybe the screaming and rabid roaring the demented deputy threw at his terrified daughter served a purpose. It provided a primary outlet for his anger – before the blows fell. From experience, Dean knew that from certain lips words could rain like blows and leave damage that ran deeper than scared tissue or broken bones. He was also certain that those wounds – the ones he had already learned to hide and downplay for himself – ran much deeper in Ruth.

He managed to help her to the bed. She half leaned, half clawed at his shoulder in response to the pain the jostling caused.

"You need a Dr" he said gently, wincing as she drew a sharp breath. "I don't believe anything is broken, but my x-ray vision is on the fritz these days…"

She didn't respond to his pathetic attempts at levity. What could alleviate this situation? In Dean's mind, Henley's head on a pole … in Ruth's mind … who knew? The fury seemed to ignite somewhere deep in him fueled by his feelings of helplessness and the frozen void look on her open face. He had no name for the emotion (if that's what it was) that Ruth wore on her face. The nearest his young mind could conjure was – defeat. Something about that fact crawled under his skin and ran raw over his very last nerve.

"This is bullshit!" he exploded.

She cowered and shrank away from him. He regretted the act instantly, but couldn't swallow his outrage without it choking him. His soft touch on her shoulder was at odds with the anger in his voice.

"Ok Ruthie – I have something to tell you and … well your going to think I'm nuts! But all I am asking is for your trust – and I think I kinda have that already…. So here goes! My Dad is not a salesman. He travels because he's … a hunter, and I am not talking Yosemite Sam. He finds evil things and saves people from them. He's a hero … and he is definitely more than a match for that Son of a Bitch you call Dad! He **will** save you Ruth … and Pastor Jim will know what to do for the best – and even if your scared, I'll be there … I will stay with you, I promise… Remember all that Bible stuff you, like chant, well I don't get it, but you do – so that's enough for me. Same here see – you may not get the whole "Monsters are REAL" thing, but you just gotta trust me Ruth, cause it's all I can figure to help you out … and to make sure that bastard _never_ lays another hand on you again … I …just couldn't stand that Ruthie. Please just come with me …"

Words were just clattering out now, like a runaway freight train, carrying this Chick Flick moment to its awful conclusion – Tears Central or Hug City. Both equally terrifying destinations for Dean, under any circumstances. Eye contact had ceased at the beginning of his Gettysburg address, and probably would not resume till one of them surrendered completely … and it was her.

Dean's heart clenched and his entire body froze in the heartfelt death grip she delivered. Dean had only ever been hugged by Sammy as a baby, on a regular basis. With a shudder, he realized the squelching sensation that brushed his cheeks (feeling warm and cold at the same time) were her soft kisses, delivered with a Childs wild, joyful abandon and Ruth's tears of gratitude. All he could hear in half gasps between sobs were two words.

"Bless you".

Now, Dean was fairly certain he remembered Pastor Jim's definition of a blessing – and what actually arrived in answer to her chanting was not an Angel, but the very Devil himself.

Henley's presence was announced by the meaty forearm that savagely hooked under the young boy's chin and the wrenching sensation in his left shoulder as he was torn away, bodily, from Ruth. He was hauled from her arms, by his neck. His choking breath and Ruthie's screams making no dent in Henley's armor of indifference.

"Is this little punk the reason Mrs. Reynolds at the library, talks to me about you, like you're the next town whore Ruthie?!!! He demanded in a climbing growl. "Huh?! What are you thinking of … you vile, dirty, filthy, wretch … your Mother is lucky she was spared this!"

"No Daddy, no – he's jus… just a friend …. You're hurting him Daddy! He is turning the same colour as Mummy. Please …. P.L.E.A.S.E!!"

"Just fucking shut up – you evil little Bitch! How dare you bring up things you know nothing about – I am a man of God, your mother was a soulless whore!!" I, I,...saved her, before she fell into temptation… and I'll do the same for you. You will not disgrace my house Ruth – you will **not** **shame me**!!"

"No, no … I, I swear …."

"You swear? How **dare you!**"

Henley's roar was the only constant Dean's failing senses registered. He knew he was about to go down for the count; the stranglehold the deputy was expertly applying, would see to that. Only one thought shone in his dulled senses -_**Get Out**_! It was a trumpet sounding in time with his frantic heart. He had nothing – no room to maneuver, no strength to resist and no air. Suddenly Caleb's devilish grin popped into his head.

_When you are going down kid don't believe that bow out gracefully shit … You kick, you scream, you __**rage**__ … my advice to you then my friend is to fight the only way you can … D.I.R.T.Y!_

Winchester swung his left foot forward, ignoring the shooting pain making itself reacquainted with his shoulder. He had been bounced around enough to know this was not a desirable sensation. Crashing his thick heeled boot into Henley's family jewels caused him no guilt whatsoever. In fact from some adrenaline fueled niche of his battered spirit, he managed to combine the maneuver with a tilt that was timed to perfection to bring down the now howling Goliath. Henley's face first fall over Dean's bowed form, ended with a satisfying wet noise. Judging from the bloody mouth Dean's best guess was broken teeth.

What the young boy hadn't planned on was that, the Deputy was a lot faster than his bulky form suggested. Dean caught the full force of the hulking lawman's right hook. Being swept off your feet in the non-romantic sense was _**nothing**_ like the songs; but Winchester could definitely see stars. He was awed by the venom of the blows that followed – though he didn't know why. After what he had just witnessed the Deputy deliver to his own daughter – feeling_** was**_ believing he guessed. He tried in vein to raise some sort of guard, but he was down. Henley was using the force of his weight, of his rage, and of gravity to punish Dean. _Too much force to go up against_, a small clear thinking corner of his mind told him.

He screamed in pain as his dislocated shoulder was kicked and began subconsciously to prepare himself for the final bow. No way out. No Cavalry. He was going to go down fighting, but go down hard nevertheless. Then it happened. There was a crashing noise and Dean watched as Henley's eyes rolled back into his head as his body slid sideways to the floor. Locking eyes with her over her Father's unconscious form was difficult, as his left eye had started to swell pretty badly already. But he did pick up on the smashed bottle of Jack in her hands. Wordlessly they helped each other from the room – both too scared to go near the fallen giant, though the rise and fall of his chest testified to his still residing in the land of the living.

When the night air hit them, it stung a little sense into Dean.

"I got to pick up Sam from a friends house, then we head to …"

"He'll find us" she stated flatly "and this time he won't be threatening."

"My Dad, Jim – they won't let him …"

"They won't get to us in time Dean – he's the law, and no-one did anything to stop him when my Mother… can we go now, if we go we may just …"

Dean shook his head violently, gritting his teeth at the pain emanating from his shoulder and down his arm. "Not without Sam" he grated.

She nodded wordlessly her face looking a little more hurt than was accounted for by the beating alone.

He relented a little. "He's my kid brother Ruthie – besides Henley knows him … might … get …to"

Dean had to concentrate hard on speaking because disconnecting the various points of pain in his body as his Father had taught him was going to be difficult. Especially as his vision was swimming at the edges.

"Ruth, don't freak out … but if I pass out on you like a sissy – lay low with me – and …"

She reached over and grabbed his chin as his thoughts started to falter.

"Where is Sam, Dean?! We don't have time to lay low – don't you get it? You _**saw**_ him – his perfect reputation is gone." Her voice held more than a touch of bitterness.

"Craig Berry's … 41 Crestview … don't worry… I'll be fine … just keep us … moving."

Ruth threw him an incredulous look. It was her will and her fear that drove them now. The half stagger, half crawl to the Berry's house was a sluggish grind with all pain and no particulars. Dean realized abruptly they were near the Berry place and she was talking to him.

"Think you can fake normal one more time El Deano?" She grinned lopsidedly, gingerly straightening herself.

"Does my face look like blueberry pie yet?" he asked with a grim smile.

She winced as her first full smile pulled at a rip in the corner of her mouth.

"Nah, you look sun burnt is all."

He grunted as he hauled himself erect and stepped away from her.

"Stay out of direct porch light" he warned climbing the stairs.

Nicholas Berry answered the door on the second bell. He had not expected Samuel Winchester to have two escorts and as his eye dropped to meet the top of his older brother's head, he wondered why neither was above the age limit. However one was Ruth Henley, the deputy's kid – which probably meant a car was likely waiting round the corner.

"Hi there." Nick started in as friendly a tone as he could muster. "You must be a real responsible young man for your Dad and Pastor Jim to pick you to come all the way round here on your own."

Dean's smile was functional and held no warmth; He had plenty of practice disarming the alarm bells in most adults in situations like this. "Waiting round the corner – is Sam ready please?"

Something was off here. The children were so far back they were practically off the porch step.

"Why don't you kids come on in for a drink?"

Keeping his game face on was difficult as pain was eating away at his defenses. Luckily Sam had the hearing of a dog, and bounded past a startled Mr. Berry with an enthusiastic but dismissive;

"Thanks – I had a great time!"

He then launched into a mile a minute chatter that was impressive even by Sam's standards. As Sam began to walk down the path Dean threw the bewildered adult a lopsided _"Whatcha going to do?"_ grin and gratefully followed his brother's lead away from the house.

Nick knew there was just something off kilter but wasn't prepared to go round the corner and check on Mr. Winchester. He had only seen him once, in Pastor Jim's company that was enough. The vibe from the man was not very neighborly! No, he would call Grey Henley … after all it was his daughter that was riding with the rough looking newcomer. With that decision made, Berry put the little trio out of his head. Deputy Henley would see to them – you never could be too careful where children were concerned!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 –**

_**(August 8**__**th**__** 1989- Boxborough Massachusetts)**_

Sam's constant talking had no end. Craig's room got a sonnet, his new bike got an ode – even his dog Jammer got an honorable mention. Dean was so used to it, it was almost like elevator music for him, but Ruth seemed on edge. Understandably so – she was hurting, worried, anxious and terrified; in fact Dean was pretty sure that he should be a little less carefree than he was being but he didn't want to freak out Sammy. Also he was just downright relieved that a quick field examination he'd given himself, revealed that his shoulder was not dislocated; though his movement was restricted and the pulpy swelling and constantly smarting bruising could not have been all good news either!

Ruth tried for the second time to stem the torrent of words gushing out of Sam in full flow.

"Uh Sam, want to keep it down to a shouting noise – it's a little late and people may want to sleep."

Sam's small face scrunched into an instant frown, like the face he pulled when presented with green vegetables. He looked to Dean realizing for the first time someone else is there.

"You are **not** the boss of me … is she Dean?" he asked with 85% certainty.

"Sammy, Ruth is not trying to be the boss, she was just thinking of other folk … like we learned at church that week remember?"

Sam's little mind seemed to contemplating that while his eyes remained on Ruth, sizing her up.

"Yeah, well, this week – when you didn't want to go – Pastor Jim taught us about compromise and working together." Sam looked confidently in Dean's direction, "God made us all the same you know – no one is better or worse, we all have a turn."

Dean looked at his brother with a warm light in his eyes. Somehow Sam's logic, though advanced beyond his years, was tied directly to his heart. Dean had only ever seen cold hunters logic played out for him. It worked in terms of absolute need and dire consequences – so he could never, ever bring himself to alter a single thing in Sam's charmed world. Why would he? As long as he had his Sammy – every now and then, he could glimpse the beautiful places too.

Sam's attention transferred fully to Dean, probably because he was taking a while to answer. The young child's face was full of concern.

"Dean have you been fighting again? Daddy won't like it… your not hurt are you?"

Dean smiled softly "No Sammy I'm fine."

The night was suddenly split with the sound of a police siren that made the older two children freeze with a stricken look gracing each of their faces.

"It might not be …" Dean began.

"Want to take another shot at the title there el Deano?" Ruth glanced significantly at Sam.

The elder boy's features darkened. "Never going to happen" he growled.

Thinking quickly, he took stock of their bearings. They were by the Steele Farm Ice House lake; its frigid waters ran close to the Church's picnic area. It was a fair hike to Pastor Jim's lodging from there and not by a direct route either, but their options numbered between few and non-existent. Besides, Dad had been home and would pick up on their missing curfew within 15 seconds. Knowing their Father, he'd have the Impala out patrolling alongside Jim's beat-up Ford. They only needed to hide out till then, and if things went wrong and they were discovered; they could escape and evade back through the woods surrounding the lake, whilst heading for the Church itself.

Even as he finalized the 'Master Plan', the sirens sounded way too close.

"He knows where we are!" Ruth cried, a frantic tremble breaking out in her voice.

Dean grasped her hand and Sam's in the same instant – no time for a democratic vote. He bit back the searing hurt in his abused shoulder.

Grinning tightly down at Sammy he suggested "Let's check out the lake Sam – what d'ya say?"

"Now Dean?! But I have no suit and it's cold and late and Dad will go _**nuts**_ if we're late. Besides Pastor Jim promised to …"

"Don't you ever quit talking kid?" Ruth grated, fear fueling a harsh quality in her voice.

Sam stuck out his tongue at her and would have followed with his cutting six year old retort; when a police cruiser, with its lights going turned down the deserted road and interrupted them.

Run Ruth … RUN!" Dean ordered.

From behind him Dean heard the door go in a hurried urgent bang, and was fairly certain he heard Henley's voice holler something, but his ears refused to acknowledge what it was.

Sam's little legs were trying valiantly to keep up and the elder Winchester was having to bite his bottom lip now to ease the pressure of the pull on his shoulder.

"You are hurt Dean" Sam accused between gasps "Why are we running from Deputy Henley? Is he going to try to take us away from Daddy like that other officer?!"

Dean was about to assure Sam that all was right with the world as long as he hauled ass; when something occurred to him. He hated himself for it immediately.

"Yes Sammy – we can't let the deputy catch us because he'll take us away and we will _**never see Dad again**_!"

"Noooo!" Sam cried out. "What are we going to do?!"

"Not get caught!" Ruth puffed with a determined cast to her face.

The gathering dusk obscured the way ahead somewhat and Dean prayed it did the same for Henley. They had now reached the shrub and tree perimeter round the Ice House lake. Sam, though finally onboard with the escape plan, was scared out of his wits and the vice like grip he exerted on his older brothers hand bore testament to this. Maybe the dark accounted for Dean's slide into 'girlieville', but he found himself rubbing small circles in the back of Sam's hand and humming a few bars of a lullaby he used to sing to his brother, when he was a baby. Caleb had told him that Reo Speedwagon, as a lullaby was a desperate cry for help. As he hummed he drew Sammy along with him and Ruth stuck like glue to his side. Henley was still trying to call to Ruth despite his initial mad charge towards them. Dean's skin crawled every time he heard the asshole use words like "Daddy" or "Baby – girl" or the worst "I was doing it for you Ruthie".

Sam was rigid beside him pushing himself into his brother's side like Dean's mere presence offered a physical barrier against the strange behavior the lawman was exhibiting.

"What's wrong with him Dean?" Sam asked in a weak whisper, peering out from the barely adequate cover of the tree line.

"Wrong question Sammy – easier to ask what's right with the freak!"

Mentally the elder boy kicked himself as he glanced at the unnaturally calm Ruth.

"I shouldn't have said that …" he offered quietly by way of apology.

Her eyes tracked her father like the guidance system of an Air to Air missile, but that was the only clue to her being more human than porcelain doll.

"Truth hurts" she shrugged.

When she did glance at him, he shrank back from the frozen waste that was her expression. The cold fury that had overtaken him back at her house had come to live in her heart. The look she wore was mechanical, void of the warmth and spirit that he had come to identify with her. She put her finger to her lips in a gesture that was more command than request. She gestured to the water behind them with her eyes alone. Only Dean caught the 'Plan' and he was about to start shaking his head in a vigorous "_**No Fucking Way!**_"

Ruth was quicker.

"You can swim can't you Sam?" she asked soft and sweetly but with just enough of a challenge to ensure….

"Of course I can – Dean taught me … he's a great swimmer…"

"No Ruth – neither of you can swim worth a damn in open water – and not in that icy lake!"

"Can too!" Sam's outraged strangled whisper had his brother gritting his teeth.

"Can too Dean!" Ruth echoed, locking eyes with her friend.

There was no remorse there for the risk she was proposing – the danger she was willing to put them all in. Dean knew they were caught between a rock and a cold place – but escaping Henley round the perimeter of the lake, though the much longer route, was definitely the safer plan. Besides the usual risk of hypothermia, he wasn't sure his damaged shoulder was up to keeping him afloat let alone either of his companions, if they got into trouble. But Ruth had a deadly certainty about her that was unnerving, the way she was working Sam over was making him uneasy. She was his closest friend. In all his travels across all the countless miles of blacktop and sleepy communities like Boxborough – he had never lowered his defenses as much as he had for her. Had he been wrong? Had Dad been right?

"_Normal was complicated and the cost was always too high"_ he had said, when Dean had first started asking about being a Firefighter.

Looking at Ruth's bruised face and fevered but broken gaze; he felt the weight of his Father's words. Standing on the very edge of the lake with the frigid water leaking in to his toes through a hole in his sneakers, Dean found himself shivering for an entirely different reason. A quick glance to his left told him Ruth was already two steps ahead with a hand firmly clasped on Sam's shoulder. She never hesitated as she breeched the water nor did she look back or loose her grip on Sam. In taking Sam with her she knew she had Dean. Dean realized that Sam was not the only one being played by the girl.

The youngest member of the All Star swim team let out a stifled half yelp as the water lapped against his shins worming its way under the turned up jeans. With that small noise Dean knew decision time was gone; he couldn't risk giving their position away to Henley by provoking an argument with Sam. The six year old was like the six million dollar man – only they had given him stubborn mule parts rather than the useful bionic stuff! Something about Ruth was scaring Dean. She seemed colder than the water and as eerie as the night falling around them. Despite the response he knew he'd receive, the only slightly dulled pain in his shoulder demanded that Dean try to head this catastrophe off at the pass.

"Wait guys… "he began in an insistent breath, but his eyes spoke only to Ruth, "if … if anything goes wrong … I won't be able to help you out"

Her eyes cut through him "Well at least you won't go to hell for lying - now!" she spat.

Sam's face looked on the verge of protest – quick to the defense of his hero.

"Well Sam" she continued in a light tone that belied the venomous dark look she threw his older brother. "You and I are just going to have to teach your brother just how strong we are."

He did not miss her meaning, nor the way she moved closer to Sammy whilst tightening her grip on his shoulder. His mind raced.

_What the hell did she think she was doing? Sam was just a little kid!_

He knew he had failed Ruth but that was no reason to pull Sammy into this.

"Ruth you don't have to …" he began in as steady a voice as he could channel whilst wading in deeper after her.

"You don't get it do you bright boy – He. Will. Kill. Us! So a slightly icy swim sure beats … the beating!"

Her eyes were deadlocked on his, her face still void of any glimmer of the Ruth Henley he had grown to care for. Fear and hatred had twisted her into someone else and Dean cursed himself for letting anyone get within arms length of his Sam. Dad had been right, as on so many occasions before … Normal was not for the Winchesters.

A rustling in the outer tree line shut down all but the flight instinct in all three children. The cold that met them when they fully entered the inky blackness of the Ice House lake was merciless. Despite the summer season the water was dark enough that heat was repelled in an overly efficient manner. The slight smell of rain in the gaining breeze did nothing to improve their lot.

Wordlessly Dean pulled as hard as he could to catch up to the tentative swimmers in front of him, sucking up the burning sensation in his shoulder and praying that they were taking the most direct route across. He worked his way carefully between his sibling and Ruth and began to speak in low tones to Sammy.

"Just like we practiced, straight line – no left or right, just plow on … picture the other side and pull for it – ok Kiddo? I'm right here Sammy."

Despite his growing disease and distrust of her, he couldn't help but check on Ruth. She had been a good friend – and even as young as he was, he knew pain to be a powerful motivator. Her dark hair stuck to her face on both sides and Dean noticed the fat tears rolling from her red brimmed eyes, though she attempted to turn away from him.

"We can make it Ruthie…" his voice sounded desperate and weak in his own ears.

Even Sammy glanced over to him, questions mounting in his eyes.

"There is n-no Dean – there's.s you and and … I'm on.n my . I have noo.o – one left. There was,s only – sh,she's gone."

Her voice was shaky due to temperature but her tone was steady and sure of itself, and that certainty brought her nothing but sorrow.

Dean stifled a groan that threatened to spill from his lips, he was fighting to keep going, and the circling motion was torturous on his shoulder. Every stroke brought with it renewed anguish, but despite this he felt her misery more keenly than his own. Her voice, her tears tore at him – he could do nothing. Right now he couldn't think straight enough to offer her a few words of assurance. Anything his mind conjured seemed to fall short and so he fell silent.

Deputy Henley's heart raced, his fear and sense of dread was so palpable he could taste it; bitter and acrid in his mouth. The monster in his head still roared and rattled and railed – but it had gone too far, too long. He had come back up the stairs to beg his Ruthie for forgiveness, to appeal to her sweet nature one more time, when he'd seen **that **Winchester brat clinging to her. All of Rita Reynolds evil gossip mongering had come back to him. He had wanted to extinguish the little bastard and then he had taken his Ruthie!

Henley fought to ride the surge of adrenaline and anger that had his fists clenching and teeth grinding. They had to be ahead somewhere, the filthy lying Winchester punks – with his little girl.

He had already reached the greenery when he registered the other officer calling him.

"Grey, hold up – what the **hell** happened man?!"

Reluctantly and with Titanic effort Henley took his eye off the tree line where the last shuffling shrub was falling still. They had to be going round the perimeter and heading for the main road – could she be running away from him? He squashed that idiotic idea – they were all each other had… Ruth knew by now he acted out of love and his determination to keep her safe; body and soul. In that charge, he **could not** fail.

"Grey" the tone was uncertain and desperation was making it louder and more annoyingly insistent "what has happened?"

"Some bastard has taken my Ruthie."

"What?!"

Lyndon Finnes had known Ruth as a baby and felt for the poor Motherless girl as he would his own kin. With renewed urgency he swung the torch towards the lake and began to pursue the perpetrator.

Henley's hasty arm stopped him. "He – they've gone round the outside … must be heading for the exit road. Finnes, go back, I'll be right behind – call for back up and set up a block.

"What details should I give them – do you have a suspect description?"

"Ruthie was seen at the Berry's in the company of those Winchester kids staying with Pastor Jim. They were going to the Father's car – I don't know why, I can only think that the kid is luring children for his sicko Dad."

Lyndon didn't need a diagram – Boxborough was a small town, a threat to one was a threat to all.

As Finnes peeled away in a blaze of flashing lights and acrid, burning rubber, Henley streaked towards his car with one thought blazing in his head – _What was the Pastorthinking, getting involved with these lowlifes?!_

They were not exactly churchgoing types and lies would likely fall as easily as truth from their blasphemous mouths. He couldn't have that Dean kid spreading his half truths about things he couldn't understand. Henley felt a new pressure coursing through his brain.

_What if they were heading to the Pastor's place over the fields - what if they reached the clergyman with their falsehoods?_

He had to get to Ruth to repair the damage that Winchester punk had done. She was a good girl … a smart girl; she knew her Daddy only did what was best for her. She couldn't have been entirely corrupted by that reprobate could she?

When the second wailing siren filled the air, Sam, who knew little in the way of details but appeared to have fully picked up on the raw tension and driving fear, like a bloodhound; let out a pitiful whimper. Ruth went crazy.

She tried to speed up by thrashing her hands wildly – she had already begun panting heavily and Dean was concerned that they had only covered three quarters of the body of water. Ruth was not going to make it across; he needed to calm her down. Her swimming rhythm was non-existent and her head had descended beneath the water once already – panic had given way to terror. She was not the confident swimmer the Winchesters were. She had never attended Corporal Winchester's summer Boot camp! The water was not a natural habitat for her and tonight it had become a malignant foe closing in on her, suffocating her delusions of escape.

Crying hysterically, she lashed out at the arms that seemed to be reaching for her – claw like and intent on harm. Her screams only succeeded in taking in more gritty, sediment dark water, served at a chilled temperature. Ruth's eyes were now stinging and taking a breath, even when she wasn't trying to spit liquid out, gave her a claustrophobic sensation; like some great sea monster was giving her an unfriendly bear hug. She could not get enough air, she could not stay afloat … she was being punished for disrespecting her Father. She had broken a Commandment of God and the weight of her sins would drag her down – he was right… she was evil. Her cries, even to her own disjointed senses, were more animal like than human; weak, pathetic and mewling at one turn, and rabid, scared calls of a creature preparing to chew off its own limb in order to survive, at the next turn.

Dean watched horrified, as Ruth lashed out at Sam's outstretched arms, catching his brother fiercely enough to bloody his nose, but more seriously connecting with his temple and causing the little boys eyes to roll back into his head. With oaths that warmed even the freezing lake water, he propelled himself towards the spot where Sam was sinking and caught him as he was about to slip down to eyelevel. Balancing his brother against his numb almost sensation- less left arm, he blew out his relief when he discovered Sam had only been stunned by the unlucky shot.

His celebrations were short-lived as the whirlpool of activity to his left kicked into sheer panic mode. Adjusting Sam to his stronger right arm, he prayed that his little brother had inherited the Winchester hard head, and would come around soon. Dean kept Sam well out of range as he advanced towards the flailing girl. He tried calling to her, but it was painfully obvious that the petrified creature was drenched in more than water. She was washed out by a primal fear and desperation to survive – hysterics were the only language she was capable of using right now. Though a sizable part of Dean was close to joining her, he had to hold it together. He was all that stood between Sammy and a watery grave right now.

For the first time in his life he felt the dark thoughts gain the upper hand. He felt an awful bleak certainty steal over him … they could not all survive this … whole. But he was raised Winchester, and that meant … one more try.

"Ruthie" he begged, openly pleading and reaching out, this time connecting with her. "For God's sake, please, let me help you."

Maybe it was the Lord's name and then again maybe he had just moved close enough to be heard over the coughing, spluttering and keening wail that continued to flow from her lips; but she appeared to recognize his offer of help.

However, the miracle soon turned sour when Dean realized that in her desperation to be saved, Ruth flinging herself at him and then attempting to use Sam's head as a floatation device, might take them all down. Trying to get a firm grip on her and pull her away from Sammy, only served to elicit a wrenching cry of pain from his own lips, and a frustrated feral cry from Ruth. Clearly, from her wild full-blown pupils, Dean was sitting on the wrong side of the friendship fence now. She was glaring at him like he was her Father.

"You swore!" she screamed at him, her voice raw with indignation and piss and vinegar. "You said you'd save me … **LIAR**… **L.I.A.R**!!"

The death grip she had on his left arm had him biting his lip and tasting blood. But as she started lashing out at him, he felt his resolve breaking with the pain. He screamed out in agony as she caught the tenderest spot of his tortured left shoulder.

"Stop Ruth" he cried out in a broken shrill that gave away his streaming tears.

But she couldn't he knew, she couldn't – life had wrung out the last shred of reason she possessed that night and fear blotted out even the memory of sense. Ruth had been stripped down to the core of her being, and the broken, fractured, depleted spirit, torn and twisted beyond repair, was not able to stand up to this last straw.

The artic feeling that had been seeping into Dean – the sense of utter hopelessness and frigid, bone deep loss, wrung a cry from him then. He threw his head back and poured out the final full throated act of defiance he had left in him. Letting the cry erupt from his gut and his tears roll freely, unfurling down his cheeks like the pure white flag that signals the end of everything. He aimed his cry at the highest pinpoint of starlight his brimming eyes could make out – hoping God would at least notice. The bleak certainty that some or all of them, would not be making it out in one piece, had settled in his heart, and the crushing weight of that knowledge was drawing him down more than all the combined pains in his body.

Ruth seemed to read the defeat in his voice – it was unmistakable at twenty paces, but up-close it was damning. Dean was going to have to make a call here – in the darkest corner of his heart he had made it already. It was the same choice that he made every day of his life – Sam first, Sam last … and everywhere in-between. His loyalty was to Sam's wellbeing – Dean could not compute life any other way – she had always known this – why was she surprised? An unearthly calm overtook her – she imagined it was the same spirit that possessed her Mother when her Father's fists would lay down the law. Ruth was tired of her Father's "lessons" herself – they led her to only one conclusion; God's law was impossibly demanding. Her prayers to God … her own reverent pleas to be saved from the gift of life he had given her, would end here…. Her Angel would be her executioner – she just could not live with that.

Dean frowned hard – she had transformed into a weeping rock in front of him – and she was slipping. He shook her arm. Nothing. He screamed in her ear. Nothing. And still she sank – eyes transfixed on him, her face a blank slate, her eyes dead already.

"God NOOOOOO" he screamed – he cursed her and blessed her in the same scorching instant.

Dimly he became aware of Sam stirring beside him, then shaking him as Dean fought for breath. His eyes locked on the now almost completely submerged Ruth, as if the young girl was dragging his very soul down to the depths with her. She had read him like a blackened book – he felt filthy. She had trusted him and all his promises and glorified high hopes – and when the time came he had been willing to sacrifice her like an expendable spare. He continued to choke on air and felt certain that the silty icy water was what his lungs really craved. Though his mind knew what the honorable thing to do was – his heart still held on to Sammy.

He barely registered the strong arms that tried to separate him from his brother. He was unaware of his Fathers voice ordering him to let go of Sam, or the fact that, having given in, the Hunter towed both his children to shore – locked together like two halves of the same shell. Words penetrated the all encompassing fog that showed him nothing but her violet blue eyes. Words like "heard on the Police scanner" and "what the hell happened?!" – but his last scream had robbed him of all his answers, all his questions and a sizable portion of himself. So he stayed in his murky, desensitized reality. When his Dad grabbed his face gently but firmly trying to tell him something about slowing his breathing, all he could do was look back blankly at the outline of the most solid form he knew in his short life as it gave way to the tunnel of darkness, and he let go of himself and rolled into the waiting blackness.

And the rain fulfilled its threat.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9 **

"_He delivers me from my enemies, You also lift me above those who rise against me; You have delivered me from the violent man." 2Samuel v22 l49_

(**Boxborough Massachusetts – Present day)**

Jim Murphy had not been ordained long before the words of the Bible took on a more literal slant for him. At just 20 years old he had been inducted into the world of hunting like every hunter was – with blood, fire and guilt. He had been the one that lived. Although his chosen path in life made his fight against the evils of this world a less physical one, he had thrown himself into not merely drawing back the curtains on the dark lurking world of the Supernatural, but breaking the window pane. He had devoured every text he could find and had suffered to obtain some he was not meant to find, all in order to assist those that carried out the battle on the front lines. All so he could redress that scale that allowed him to live whilst worthier souls than his, perished. In his time he had aided many hunters, he had even become attached to a number of them on a more personal level, but few more so than the Winchesters. John's boys were like his own, after all he had introduced them to his own inner circle in the hunting community – he had helped raise them…. And now he was going to have to risk loosing them for the sake of a sordid truth, and a lie that he had helped to let flourish.

As he busied himself collecting supplies he heard another crash from the next room. A lamp had fallen victim to Dean's semi-conscious struggles against the Lord only knew what. Caleb barked something at Sam about "holding him still", Jim presumed that the EMT intended to sedate Dean until they prepared for their next move. A shudder ran through the clergyman as he contemplated the path he had directed them down. So many things could go wrong – so many opportunities for Dean to be lost to them forever. But Caleb had been right in his Supernatural diagnosis – Ruth Henley's spirit had indeed latched onto Dean's consciousness and had carved a hiding place out in his soul. Brolin was sharp – his Father had raised another deadly hunter; Caleb had spotted the piercing violet irises that caused Murphy's blood to chill, in a brief moment while extracting Dean from the Henley house. It seemed the spirit was not afraid of being detected, and the none too subtle evidence of her occupation was almost a challenge to those who would try to help Dean. It was almost like she had claimed him. Jim's hand brushed against a sturdy looking hand carved box as he reached for the candles. With a sigh he brought down the well used artifact. Remembering with clarity, the bashful eight year old who had placed it wrapped in newspaper under the Christmas tree for him. The memory contrasted sharply with his last encounter with Dean, and had Jim sucking in a breath. There was no way they were going to loose Dean without a fight that was for damn sure!

**(Two hours earlier)**

When Caleb brought Dean in, the state of the young hunter had shaken Jim. It was worse than sixteen years ago. The blonde hunter had suffered the trials of Job and even though it was a blessing when the seizure and bleeding stopped almost as suddenly as they started, what followed brought cold comfort.

Caleb had tasked a near hysterical Sam with gathering blankets from upstairs while he checked out the now still form of the elder Winchester.

"Whatever it is your holding on to Old Man, now would be a real good time to not play blind." Caleb stated matter-of-factly never taking his eyes off his charge.

"I will tell you all I can Caleb … the confessional is sacred, you know that…" Jim's tone was miserable, never had he felt the burden of Priesthood as keenly as he did now.

Caleb's look left little doubt as to exactly how far he went along with the Priests religious convictions. "Talk" he growled shortly.

"The Winchesters came here a decade and a half ago. John left the boys in my care while he pursued reports of a Crossroads Demon in the next town over. I thought in my vanity that I could give the boys a taste of security and the normality their life lacked. Sam seemed to flourish here and even Dean formed a close friendship with one of his classmates – something I had never seen him do before. I was happy that his acquaintance was the daughter of the local Deputy Sheriff – who was also on my Parish council. I was new to my post and I was mistaken in my haste to trust – it turns out the adage about the covering of books holds true no matter how many positions of responsibility you hold. But by then it was too late, the only thing stronger than Dean's suspicion is his loyalty, once it's given."

"So this _**friend**_– is she the dead girl? Did Dean witness her death… is that why this all seems so personal?! Jim now is not the time to pull the Holy Handbook out … I need to know what I am dealing with here – if you saw the beating that thing dished out … she could have fucking _killed_ him Murphy!"

"I don't _choose_ when I wear the Cloth and when I don't Caleb! I can tell you that this girl's body was never found, that she, Dean and Sam were last seen heading towards the Steele Farm Lake…."

"Jesus Jim… this is not the type of thing you forget to mention! Oh by the way that little missing, presumed dead, friend of yours may still be haunting these parts Dean – and her Daddy ( who has righteously confessed and been absolved of sin or **sins** unknown) may well bear you a small grudge there son – just thought I'd mention it! Holy Shit!!!!"

"Does she blame him Pastor Jim?" Sam's voice was hollow and carried clearly from the stairs where he'd apparently been standing a while. His eyes bled all the emotion his tone didn't carry, and fear was chief amongst them.

Before Jim had, had the opportunity to explain, a dry chuckle coming from the floor caught all of them off guard. The sound was at once familiar and frightening, because the malice it held was foreign to its owner. Three pairs of eyes looked down to see a fully conscious Dean with his hands behind his head, laying on his back watching the entertainment like it was the Thanksgiving Day, Big Game.

"Well Pastor?" he drawled in a heavy Southern lilt "You seem to be the expert on Miss Henley here, what do you think? Is she angry with the wretched coward she trusted with the biggest secret of her miserably short life? Is her nose a tad out of joint that the Cavalry he swore would come to her aid didn't just contemplate her death, but helped to cover it up… hmmm?"

"Dean?" Sam questioned uncertainly sensing something was very wrong with this situation.

When the elder Winchester shook his head in the negative, Jim had noticed with a start the change even more glaring than the boys tone. Dean's eyes were a startling violet blue as he smiled viciously at Sam; who took a step back. This was not Dean – those eyes belonged to another, Murphy hadn't come face to face with that gaze in sixteen years.

"Ruth" Jim stated in a half breath.

Dean flicked his gaze to the Pastor barely acknowledging him. Turning to examine Caleb, the blonde man began to sit up.

Brolin shook himself out of his stupor. "Stay where you are … Ruth".

Jim could tell that using the spirits name whilst addressing his friend left a vile taste in Caleb's mouth. He could also tell that the seasoned hunter was weighing up his options and would do whatever was necessary to neutralize this threat. Problem was – their options to solve this were somewhere in the region of few and far between.

The man on the floor smirked at Brolin. "What a refreshing change to be called by ones name rather than "the girl" or my favorite "the dead chick".

Caleb smiled back evenly "You're a little confused there Ruthie – I'm looking at one Dean Winchester, and addressing the squatter currently lodging behind his eyes aren't I?"

A petulant frown graced the tanned man's chiseled face. "Play nice Hunter or I'll have Dean do something really naughty." Winchester threw a glance over at Murphy "But then he has the Good Pastor to wipe the slate clean… right?"

Murphy found it hard to meet the spirit's searching glance. "It wasn't like that Ruth – your Father only ever hinted at the truth at first… I knew there was something dreadfully wrong but I wrongly suspected that it involved your Mother … I made a mistake."

The figure on the ground sitting crossed legged with arms resting casually on knees, threw his head back and laughed sardonically. "Oh no Jim… he really **did **murder my Mother – but it was so much more than that… What do you think an abuser does when the object of his attentions falls victim to his game? That's right – he steps over her cooling body and on to her daughter!"

"Listen … Ruth" Sam began in his best diplomatic tone.

"There you are Sammy – should have known, find the mutt, find the flea right? You going to plead for Big Brother now? You know, apart from our initial introductions, oh and that shaky trip down memory lane… your brother's guilty conscience led us all here."

Sam's features darkened. "He tried to help you … you tortured him!"

Dean sat bolt upright causing Caleb to bring his Glock to bear, with only a small tremble in his hand.

"You managed to go down for the count like a sissy, so I'll forgive your ignorance on the subject Sammy… but let me break this to you – your brother's murderous career started young. But he didn't get the chance to put his decision into action – I took that out of his hands. He is fully aware of what happened and why."

"You're lying, or you're mistaken" Sam bit out.

"You'd like to think so wouldn't you – the world is easier to deal with when the bad guys are Supernatural Monsters and not human ones. Good guys aren't always who they appear to be, I know he taught you that Sam. Know where he learned that? From me." Dean shot an angry glare at Caleb "And as for _**squatting**_– el Deano's guilt ridden psyche gave me the spare key. Ask the Lord's Librarian there – spirit occupation burns up too much energy fighting the host. Couldn't stick around this long with out Dean's help … it ends messy."

"Occupation – don't you mean possession – Ruth?" Caleb quizzed over his trained gun.

"Possession suggests ownership, Short-bus … didn't you hear me, Dean's along for the ride; just not in the drivers seat."

"Oh right – and why is that exactly Ruth? If your cause is so just and he _owes_ you in some way – what harm could a little Free Will do?" Brolin continued reasonably.

Dean's grin was knowing. "I found out first hand how weak you Hunters can be – you play outside the rules. Dean made me a promise a long time ago, and I intend to see he keeps it. As soon as he solves my problem, I will cease to be one of his problems."

Sam took a step towards his brother who had crumpled like a sheet, but Brolin was quicker.

"He's out – we need to move. Jim I need to know everything you got on containment and exorcisms."

With that simple, disturbing request, Jim had put everything else on hold and for once occupied the hunting realm entirely. If there were debts to be paid, he counted his debt to Dean Winchester way overdue.

* * *

"Pastor Jim" Sam's voice sounded young but determined as he pulled the clergyman from his thoughts. "Do you have the book?"

Murphy merely nodded and handed the archaic, leather bound tome to the young hunter. "I will set the wards round Dean myself Sam – I can't … tell you how sorry I am son."

Sam smiled sadly at him "I know Pastor – but I'm the wrong brother to confess to. When we wake him, you can tell him."

Jim smiled gratefully at the young man before him, at least one corner of the Winchester clan had not written him off entirely. Putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, they exited the store cupboard and sought out Caleb.

As they entered the room Caleb was putting the final touches on the salt circle by the bed. He had placed himself within its confines. Gesturing with his head to two further circles, further away, he waited for the other hunter and the Priest to take up their posts.

"Caleb I think I should lead the rite – after all next to Dean I am the one she is most familiar with here."

"No offense Padre, but we can paint that bull's-eye on your back with the Holy Ash after we finish putting up all the protective sigils ok? Ruth does not play well with others, and the more uncertainty I can throw at her with my dazzling Personality, the better. I want her off guard. Besides if I fall Sammy here tells me he has been putting in the hours on the Exorcism practice field."

The lean bald hunter threw Sam a devilish look as the other man laid down the supplies that he had helped Jim bring in. Sam rolled his eyes in response, but appreciated the EMT's attempt to lighten the mood. Truth was – that was not going to happen until he had Dean back.

Sam could not contain the nervous energy that flowed through him, as Brolin checked everything for the third time and Murphy painted the last protective symbol on the headboard of Dean's bed. He noticed that his brother seemed to become more restless the closer the consecrated ash came to him.

"Is she figuring out what we are doing Pastor?" Sam questioned uncertainly.

"I gave Sundance enough juice to knock out a baby elephant" Caleb reassured the younger sibling "The only way he's aware of what is going on is if his Mediclorian Count increases to the power of 100… and despite what Ruthie says, her influence over him has some consequences for her too – his limitations are hers the longer they remain in sync."

Jim gave Caleb a raised eyebrow as he commented dryly "There is a whole galaxy of movies beyond Star Wars you know?!"

Smiling briefly at the young men before him Jim took up his post at Dean's left side, while Sam placed himself on the right after briefly touching his brother's hand. They both had their roles in the coming ceremony.

As Caleb began to recite the Latin exorcism, Dean's growing unrest gave Sam cause to wonder weather Caleb had done his maths correctly.

The blonde hunter on the bed began to sweat and there was a distinct tightening of his fists as if he were in discomfort. Caleb's strong timbre carried on unphased pausing only a moment to allow Jim to anoint Dean's forehead with the final sigil. Sam kept all his senses trained on Dean, and though his brother was definitely affected by the litany Caleb was reading, the results were far less threatening or dramatic than Ruth's interaction had been earlier. Rather than ease his mind this fact only drew the worry lines deeper in his forehead. From everything Sam knew about this child's spirit, he couldn't understand why such an obviously powerful entity, one that had known nothing but struggle and strife, during both her life and afterlife, would comply so peacefully with the eviction notice Caleb was laying down.

The white candle he held flared higher and he extended his arm accordingly. The climbing flame of this candle and the other strategically placed light markers in the room signaled the spirit had begun to exit the host and was entering the main arena. Sam hefted the rock salt filled shotgun in his left hand and slowly lowered the candle to the floor. Caleb had tensed ready to spring for his weapon, which waited within easy grasp to his right – the final blessing of the Exorcism tripping fluidly off his tongue. Jim held a canister of Holy Water tightly with both hands as the air in the room began to gain force. All three stood there ground as the wind that should not have been possible whipped at their hair, their clothes and danced with a murmuring half heard whisper near their ears. But as swiftly as it began, the funnel of air started to fail. The curtains stopped dancing, the candles, though flameless had single threads of black smoke reaching out to the ceiling undeterred by the winds effects and all three men gave each other the _"What the fuck"_ look, each in turn drawing blanks for answers.

"Did we miss something?" Sam asked finally breaking the spell and going over to his brother who appeared to be sleeping deeply.

"I can read you know, college boy – of course we didn't miss anything – right Jim?" Caleb countered sounding less sure as his sentence went on.

"If there is something, I have not encountered it in my thirty five years experience … she almost seemed to leave voluntarily." Jim mused.

"That just doesn't make sense Pastor – why go through all the trouble of putting Dean through all that, announcing her presence to us … let alone killing those she felt were guilty…" Sam's thoughts spilled out in a disbelieving rush, even as he unconsciously brushed the hair out of his brother's face.

"She doesn't gain anything by letting him go – that particular gem of an exorcism dates to the 13th Century and ensures the spirit is barred from the host from then on – kind of a Supernatural vaccine; no way back, no repeat visitations. I thought ghosts were supposed to go to the matt to avoid this one Jim?" Caleb quizzed.

"They do" the Pastor answered in bewilderment "the risks are largely to do with the finality of the outcome – spirits know this and fight tooth and nail to maintain contact with their hosts. I have some texts I need to look over boys; I suggest we let Dean get some overdue rest."

"I don't want to leave him alone until we figure this one out Jim" Caleb began " Sammy I think you ought to take some overdue rest too, in the next bed – this way I get to limit the amount of nursmaiding and running round I get to do for the Winchesters later! And before I get any of those objections councilor – you **are** overruled … so say I and my sleep inducing hypodermic – _ok_?

The elder man may have been smiling sweetly, but Sam had no doubt that the hunter in Brolin never made idle threats. Without further debate he took the second bed – telling himself that he had planned on sticking close to Dean till he woke up anyway. Sam glanced at the slight tremble in Jim's back, as he exited the room ahead of Caleb, with suspicion. But let it go.

* * *

"El- Deano."

Dimly he began to become aware in his anesthetized haze that he was being called. No – not called, summoned … ordered to show up. All he wanted was to stay in the blissful darkness; where his wrung out muscles ached less, and his throbbing ears no longer burned. Even the axe that was trying to – and if sensation was any indication, succeeding in- cleaving his skull in two, had slowed down, if not halted entirely.

"El – Deano … I know you hear me."

There it was again – the banter without the mirth. There was no room for compromise or disagreement – there was merely "_Tell and Do_". As quickly as his protesting senses would allow, Dean began to pull himself out of his unnaturally deep slumber. His eyes blinked even in the dimmed room and he became aware of a second presence; snoring softly and rhythmically at his back. It was late morning, judging from the light the curtains did allow through. The hunter knew without needing to check that the Sleeping Beauty behind him was Sam, but the other voice …"

"Ta – dah!!!" Ruth smiled toothily at him, clearly enjoying his disorientation. "Talk about needing the rest – you look awful Dean!"

"Can't imagine why!" Dean answered in a voice that was cut glass and gravel.

She looked at him gravely "You always did enjoy learning the hard way – now do you remember our agreement or do you need some form of full sensory memo?"

Despite the front he was desperately attempting to build, Winchester shivered as his mind skimmed the freshly recalled details of Ruth's death. He knew his portion in the bill due to her. He had to make things right, there was no other way – he owed her. Although she assured him that her request would make all things even – he was still not convinced. Of course she hadn't fully revealed her request yet – for all he knew it could end with him burning down the Town Hall and sacrificing the Mayor. Still, it beat the trips down memory lane that in all probability would cause him an aneurism. And this way Dean could take care of his own mess without endangering those he loved. Logic was lame, and he was pretty certain his experiences over the past few days had fried his reasoning circuits too. Part of him instinctively wanted to reach out for his brother, and he was almost friggin tired enough, to give in to that Candy-assed portion of himself … Except… seeing her in front of him served as a vivid reminder of what happened to those closest to him when he was weak enough to drop the ball.

He glanced only once at Sam as he dressed. Sasquatch was out for the count, and in order to avoid any awkward confrontations, Dean hoped Sam stayed that way, just long enough for him to take his leave. He could hear all his brother's objection to this line of action in his head, but overriding all of them, was the colossal weight of his overburdened conscience. Ruth had disappeared from the room, firm in the conviction that he only had one path to take. She was right. He had no way to outrun the guilt burning away at his insides, and until he fixed this; he was of no use to anyone.

* * *

Following Ruth's direction Dean found himself back in the company of Rachael, at Boxborough's only bar. The only problem was that this time, Rachael was not overwhelmed by his presence for the good reasons. If he didn't know better he'd have suspected the young spirit of a small measure of jealousy towards the buxom red head. Except that was foolish because homicidal spirits didn't need to harbor feelings of jealousy – they could just wipe out the object of their irritation. He had tried to allow the scared waitress to go, when he had broken into the bar, but Ruthie seemed adamant that the unfortunate woman might come in handy. It was not so much what she said, as the subtle way Ruth had hurled the screaming girl through the air, slamming her into the nearest wall. As Dean had gone to her aid he couldn't help but flinch at Rachael's pleas, delivered in broken breaths from her bloody mouth.

"I'm sorry" was all he could offer.

He didn't even attempt to console her as it had begun to dawn on him that Ruth's ultimate goal was to bring down her Father permanently using him and any other "tool" that she could throw at him.

Sighing heavily and avoiding the weeping woman's pitiful face he sat himself down at the bar with a bottle of Jose and a whiskey glass. He set up his first triple measure, pausing only briefly to enquire if she had put in the 911 call, before slamming the drink down. He repeated the process, dimly aware that his form of self medicating might not be the ideal companion to the drugs Dr Brolin Medicine Woman had so obviously slipped him.

Rachael watched him with wide eyed terror. He had not laid a hand on her, and yet she smarted from head to toe. She had no explanation for what he had done to cause her injuries, but as she spat out the last bloody liquid from her mouth and cautiously eyed him savagely driving home a measure that Saint Patrick himself would have been impressed by, Rachael resolved to try to save her life one more time. She approached him slowly, as if she had fallen into the lions den. Working her way up the bar she tentatively laid a hand on his muscled forearm.

"You don't have to do this Dean – please let me go …" her voice broke more than once before she finished.

He could not look at her – this is what payback looked like – it was always the innocent that seemed to get trapped in the crossfire.

"Your wrong" he answered quietly "I have no other choice … but … you need to go find yourself a place to hide … and stay there."

Something in the finality of his voice made her withdraw her hand and scuttle away from him like he was a cursed object. As Dean threw back a burning third glass of liquid flame, he wasn't entirely sure that her instincts weren't right. After all – sixteen years ago, his own mind had tried to make the same escape hadn't it? He heard the siren wail to a halt outside the building and he looked up to meet his own reflection in the mirror. The shock of what he saw there had him sitting up straighter – no wonder she was not that in to him … he looked like hell. Ruth appeared briefly over his right shoulder, giving him a silent nudge (as if that was fucking necessary!); he even appeared to be packing his own devils.

They had made their entry on the ground floor level and were working their way up the staircase. Only two sets of halting steps revealed that any backup – if it existed – was significantly far behind them to warrant their caution. Dean merely finished up his drink in response to their mandatory yelled warning that they were coming in armed.

Winchester was not surprised when Henley kicked the door in, weapon in sight, but not drawn. Deputy Graham Henley may have professed to be meek and humble in nature, but biology had, had other plans for him. The man had aged well; maintaining a svelte, well toned physique. The way he carried himself – lightly and on the balls of his feet – gave away the agility that went along with his muscled mass. Dean's usual internal monologue on the eve of a confrontation was silent. No bolstering of his own courage with sarcastic quips; no derogatory comments that would cut his opponent down a peg or three; there was just the long silent rage that had boiled suppressed and in secret for sixteen years. He had a job to do here, it was not pleasant – but then duty rarely was in this line of work. Henley was (technically) human and he could hear Angel Sammy and Archangel Jim's objections to what he intended to do, running rampant through his head. But these were like diluted water colors in comparison to his hazily returning memories and the garish, vivid pictures she had insisted on sharing with him. This monster, who was made in the creator's image – this perverted keeper of the laws of God and Man, was everything Dean had set out to crush in his lifetime. It didn't matter that he wasn't Supernatural in origin … many Monsters they hunted started out that way.

Henley caught his eye, and there was no mistaking the bloodlust in them. Dean's whole demeanor screamed one sentiment; "_Come and get it!"_ He dared the Deputy to move in, while his vicious, shit eating grin promised that whatever happened from here on in; Dean would be the catalyst and sole survivor.

"Son" Henley sighed as he unclipped his weapon "I think you have had enough – why don't you come with me and I'll take you some place to sleep it off?"

"Don't fucking call me Son, you filthy animal!" Dean growled.

"Easy there boy – I got no issue with you, apart from the one you're talking yourself into."

Dean turned fully towards the officer. "You don't remember me, do you – you sanctimonious fucker?"

Henley regarded the obviously mad man in front of him. The Pastor had called him Dylan … but those accusing green eyes were so familiar.

"How long did it take you to forget her, officer? As long as it did to forget that she was your child and not your punching bag?"

Henley's bemused look gave way to pure white faced shock, followed closely by seething anger.

"Go outside and get the car ready Harry" Henley answered in a chilling soft voice, his eyes never leaving the dangerous creature in front of him. "This here is the punk that drowned my Ruthie."

Harry Redgrave had been around Henley long enough to hear all his partner's crazy theory's about how his daughter died on the worst day of his life. Her death had been ruled accidental. Though there had been one other child involved, the kid had been so traumatized that Sheriff Takins had, had to interview him in a mental hospital, with the local Pastor. As far as anyone knew, and according to the Pastor, the poor soul had never fully recovered from that day and may even have passed away.

"C'mon Grey, you know this can't be … I think I ought to call Sheriff Takins…" Harry's thin frame quivered as he spoke and the tremor leaked in to his voice as he read the two combatants glaring menacingly at each other in front of him.

"It was an accident Henley" Dean asserted "I was ten years old and will live with that till the day I die…" He stalled a moment as if watching something else, and began to pull roughly at his hair as he continued. "But what you did to her intentionally - you sick, fucking, bastard …. You liked her to dress decently didn't you – because Respectable hid all those bruise patterns right?"

"Boy – your ten types of crazy and you need to shut your mouth now! Your guilty as sin – you even admit it, and after I beat the snot out of you, you are going to start that life sentence in an I.C.U."

Dean barked a mirthless laugh. "You want to talk sinful there God boy?! You have got to be fucking kidding me – I _saw_ you that night … watched you from the cupboard when you beat the Holy Shit out of your own daughter…"

"Shut up, SHUT UP! You're _**lying**_ – he's lying Harry … he's a filthy, murdering Son of a …"

"Watch your mouth Deputy, before I shut it permanently for you." Dean snarled venomously.

"You think you can take me mongrel? You give it your best fucking shot!"

"Oh this isn't the first time we've crossed paths – your hard case history against pre-teens, had you knocking me around back then too … remember?" Dean's smile was menacing and cold.

"My God!" Henley mumbled stunned "It is you, isn't it… Dean?"

"He is not your God asshole, and you sure as hell ain't walking this time. I have no interest in taking you down…"

"No… what you going to do with all that imaginary evidence there chief?" Henley challenged.

Dean took a last swig from his glass and set it down with finality before continuing "Don't you ever wonder_ Grey_ – about that thing that moves in the shadows … just out of the corner of your eye?"

"You are crasy!" Henley breathed with a shaky certainty.

"And you look like you just peed your pants there. You know what it is don't you … or should I say… who?" Dean smirked, breathing out a cold visible puff of air as the temperature in the room plummeted sharply.

A mirror smashed on the end of the bar. Rachael who had been a few spaces away hugging herself in fear and cold, screamed and dove into the Kitchen for cover. Harry who had the oddest mixture of concentration and undiluted terror on his pale face, moved for the first time since he had last spoken and began to make for the door, mumbling something about back-up.

Dean was left alone with his prey.

Henley looked at the shattered glass with a stricken look.

"What are you doing – what are you…"

"Not me – Grey … Ruthie. And I am being exactly what she asked for every time you forced her to pray while you would hold her head under water, or after you'd bloodied her nose and lay crying next to her begging that she pray with you, for forgiveness she did not need. I'm the Reckoning … you're not heading for Man's Justice."

"It wasn't like that" Henley began shakily, pulling his gun from the holster. You don't know how hard I fought – how I tried."

"Unfortunately for me Grey, it is a horror movie I will never forget" Dean smiled sadly as another mirror smashed. "And … I don't think she believes you" the hunter sing-songed.

"Shut up!" the older man pointed his piece unsteadily at Dean's head, "She is **really** here?"

"In the Spirit" Dean smirked coldly.

The fog began to form and move towards the stricken looking lawman. The hunter drew his weapon and both men reacted with the practiced grace of an 18th century duelist; aiming their weapons and priming them in one deadly motion.

"Put it down boy" Henley screamed "Last time I blacked your eye; this time I'll blow your head off!"

"Go fuck yourself Deputy – last time I was trying to stop you this time I am going to end you!"

The kitchen doors are slammed inwards.

"Threatening an officer of the law there Winchester?" Caleb's familiar yet strangely calm voice came to Dean. "We bought you up with more manners than that!"

Dean grit his teeth "Not your business Brolin, I am just settling my tab here."

Caleb kept his weapon trained on the oblivious deputy and the growing misty shape behind him. The lights began to dance slowly.

"I don't know exactly what you think you owe this chick – sorry **dead** chick…"

"Caleb" Dean grated warningly.

"You were ten years old man, cut yourself some slack; there is no way you could have held on to both of them."

Caleb's eyes flicked to his friend. Dean was in bad shape. He had not even attempted to rise from the barstool and from the grey pallor of his face Caleb wondered if he had the strength to stand on his own. A sheen of sweat covered him and bore testament to the price Ruth's presence in his mind had exacted from the hunter.

"She has it wrong Sundance – spirits get confused, **you are not** what she was running from."

The blonde hunter licked his lips as his arms shook he needed both hands to steady his weapon.

"You'd better talk some sense into your buddy there – uh Caleb …" Henley began.

"Shut the fuck up Starsky! If I had my way we would be pegging your naked ass out in a desert for the scavengers. Do I make myself fucking clear?! So why don't you just shut your pie-hole and let me save your sorry excuse of a hide here – huh?"

Henley nodded mutely.

"Aint going to happen Butch" Dean stammered. "Can't let the Monster walk again."

"We are not killers Kid – we leave human Monster's to the law… we don't play God; that's the same mistake Henley made."

The kitchen doors swung open again and admitted the Pastor and Sam – neither of whom carried a weapon though Sam seemed to be palming something.

"Dean!" the youngest Winchester cried out a scared quality to his voice, he was being held back by Jim's extended arm. "Please don't do this."

The light show started in earnest, bulbs flickered wildly, two bottles to Sam's left exploded, spraying him and the Pastor with liquid and glass. Caleb cast a weary eye at the fully formed yet colorless figure of Ruth standing at her Father's side. Though the man was still oblivious.

Dean clutched his head with his left hand, ridding out the pain knifing through his brain. His memories and those that she had shared with him, were running riot, he couldn't think straight without one or both sets repeating on him. She couldn't let herself forgive him, and he couldn't let himself forget her.

"Jim?" Caleb's voice was a little frantic, needing to aid his friend.

"She is weakened by her earlier efforts to influence Dean directly, but the link is still there because he is maintaining it. Exorcisms work against the Spirits efforts to gain a threshold; they are powerless against the host making themselves a channel for the entity." Jim yelled back.

Caleb continued to move towards his friend whilst keeping his weapon trained on the Deputy.

"Sundance – you still with us? You can get past this kid – you know it's wrong, we are not the Jury."

Dean cried out, savagely grabbing his hair and almost doubling over. Sam pushed past the Pastor and breezed easily by Caleb to get to his brother's side.

The foggy figure looked up at them both and shrieked, causing Henley to jump and let off a shot inches above Dean's head. Time sped up and several things happened at once. Jim darted towards Henley, as did Caleb; both men brought down the burley Deputy. Caleb continued to try to wrestle the gibbering lawman's gun from him. Sam reached Dean and took his gun. Disarming the hunter was pitifully easy. His elder brother was hot to the touch and rapidly whispering to himself.

"God help me – I didn't mean to let go. Forgive me Ruth."

Sam held the other man in an encompassing embrace and put his mouth close to Dean's ear.

"It wasn't your fault Dean you were just a kid – you weren't strong enough."

"That's right" a twisted child like voice replied with bitterness punctuating every syllable. "You promised to keep me safe, Dean – you weren't strong enough, you ran out on your promise…"

"Leave him alone" Sam grated at the now clearly visible apparition standing before them.

Dean clung to his brother, loosing a series of whimpers, where the only audible words were "Please Stop"… and … "I'm _sorry_".

"Too late El Deano – I trusted you then, and made that mistake again … more fool me. This time I showed you it all too – no holds barred, fly on the wall-o vision …. And you still failed me!"

"He is not your hired gun, damn it!" Sam bellowed. "The blame is not his – it's not his fault."

"Not his fault?!" The young spirit scoffed never moving her gaze from her prey. "People like you let it happen, Dean. People like you saw; but didn't act. People like you, let him get away with it …"

Ruth's venom spilled through, getting more forceful and frighteningly insistent with each accusation; until Dean let out a choked cry as blood began to gush from his nose, and he clutched urgently at his chest.

The little girl continued unrelentingly. "People like you – are going to pay for it …. Like I did."

"Dean chose to save me Ruth" Sam challenged with a desperate edge shrill his high voice.

He attempted to take Dean's weight as his brother almost jerked off his chair. He was struggling for air, his already pale lips turning bluer with each passing second.

"He chose me over you – right?" Sam continued in a wild tone, a desperate man clutching to the final millimeter, of the last short straw. This bitch was going to kill his brother and Sam was out of weapons … save one…

"Sam **NO**!" Caleb bellowed from across the room, guessing the younger Winchester's tactic of re-directing the spirits wrath away from his sibling and onto himself.

Ruth regarded the shaggy, dark haired man with her head tilted to one side and a quizzical expression, as if trying to work out what he was.

Dean gasped out the first breath he had been able to take in about a minute, and sprayed blood all over Sam's jacket in the process. His hands were balled tightly into the fabric of the coat, and seemed to be trying to thump out a frantic Morse code warning against the younger man's chest. Sam's only response was to slowly remove his brothers grasp and lay him tenderly propped up against the bar, all the while engaging Ruth's eye and moving very deliberately away from Dean; taking her attention with him. Behind his numbed, slightly cocky game face, Sam prayed fervently for Dean to be alright; but the threat hadn't been neutralized yet – he still had a job to do.

"That must be a real kicker – right?!" Sam snarked in a steadier voice looking down at the young girl.

"Samuel - Don't". Jim's voice strained by his efforts to put the deputy down.

Dean's vision was clearly darkening at the edges. He couldn't catch his breath, but at least he could get the sweet sensation of air entering his lungs now. With a supreme effort of will he threw himself to the side and began to claw across the short distance of floor to his downed weapon.

Caleb roared- a sound filled with fury and frustration. Dean had suffered untold torment on his watch. John had broken cover specifically to send him in to help his boys, and now Caleb was watching whilst this little dead witch broke Dean in front of him and in all probability was about to finish Sam. The girl's spirit was powerful- she had suffered greatly in her life and he could understand the need to look for a little payback. But no matter how you twisted it- she was looking in the wrong place because the only path to the Winchesters was through his own dead corpse!

"I've had enough of this shit, he ground out the pastor."

With the full force of his swelling temper he smashed Henley's forehead with his own. The large lawman crumpled instantly. Caleb began to roll up to a standing position carrying his sawn off with him. The plan was interrupted by Ruth. With a flick of her hand she sent both Caleb and the Pastor hurtling to the far wall pinning them there like flies on fly paper. Both men continued to struggle, but she dismissed them turning her full attention back to Sam.

"He always did go on and on about you- you were his burden you know- we tried everything to ditch you."

Sam swallowed and felt an irrational sting in his eyes "Yeah and yet come plunge time- who sank and who swam Ruth?"

Her face twisted and Sam cried out as his face received a blow delivered from nowhere, but with enough force to spin his head halfway round.

"Stop it, Ruth." Dean called out his fingers grasping for the gun a few millimeters away, she ignored the elder brother her furious gaze devouring Sam's pained look.

"You don't know how lucky you are- look how you've repaid him- your savior. Ever wonder why he keeps coming back to you Sam?"

Sam wiped the blood from his mouth and held his hands up- "Because we're family and you- you were a job that went wrong."

"Sammy" Deans voice cried out torn and faltering "That's enough!"

Both Sam and Ruth turned their heads to see Dean steadying his .45 with one hand whilst perching waveringly against the bar. His body had thrown in the towel- oxygen starved and tired beyond exhaustion it was only his stubborn streak that kept him going. Dean reached into his jacket and pulled something out. Ruthie's eyes widened in shock at the sight of her bible.

"What are you doing with that?" she shrieked.

Deans eyes watered heavily "Please Ruth," he asked brokenly, "Can't you see what you've become? McKinley, Mitchell, the others- they didn't deserve to die,"

"No?! Neither did I! When I was alive I had no control, no say in my own life… I had a say in their deaths though, didn't I Dean?"

"I can't let you go on killing… I, I can't let you hurt Sam- please…

"Pleading doesn't work Dean" Her head turned 180° at an ungodly angle so she regarded her previously unconscious father who was coming to "Does it Daddy?" she asked pointedly of the translucently pale man.

Deputy Henley had the oddest sensation that he required a cigarette and a blindfold as he met the gaze of his long dead daughter. The confusion for his befuddled and aching head, was not the fact that the dead was manifest in front of him… but that his girl should be looking at him with such malice. As she swiveled her oddly angled body to line up with her head and began to approach him, Henley couldn't help but marvel at just how much Ruthie looked like her mother.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N;** Long road to get here - and I hope you all think it was worth your time. I really have learned a lot through writing this - lessons about technical stuff and motivation too (LOL). Heartfelt thanks to all of you with the patience of a Saint to put up with my erratic posting habits. Also the feedback you all gave was invaluable as pointers and confidence boosters. This was the hardest tale I have taken on so far - as it is, seeing that people actually read my stuff continues to be a source of amazement for me. For all the readers and the reviewers - you have turned me into a rabid junkie .... THANK YOU!!!!!

Hope this works for you all - let me know how you find it -

Abi.

**Chapter 10 **

The room was the very epitome of a wacky Alice in Wonderland montage. Samuel Winchester thrived on logic – it was one of the main reason he had selected Law at Stanford University; but conversely also one of the main reasons he made a skilled hunter. The scene before him was just so a-typical of his abnormal life that he fought hard to reign in the slightly worrying case of the giggles that threatened to break loose. He surveyed the scene and skipped through the chain of events that had led them to this point. Caleb and Pastor Jim; their childhood role models and protectors were currently immobilized, suspended high up on the far wall, like helpless flies on sticky paper. Dean, his personal Guardian Angel and defender of Sam's faith in not only God but mankind; was standing at a skewed angle, propped up by the worn mahogany bar, on a mission from the vengeful spirit of his childhood friend; to take out her Father. The fierce spirit of eight year old Ruth Henley had (to give the little lady her tarnished dues) taken out a trio of seasoned Hunters, and unless he was sorely mistaken, his "enlightened" tactic to divert her attention and buy Caleb and Jim some time, was going to end with her handing him his ass.

What made matters worse was, that said move had backfired in it's primary objective of saving Dean, instead it had worked in conjunction with Deputy Henley regaining consciousness, to force Dean into the worst stalemate. Dean took his role as protector deadly seriously – Sam could not even begin to reason what it cost his big brother, to have to choose between two of his charges. But sadly in the end Sam knew there were no paths left to choose from for Dean. When Ruth had turned on Sam, she had crossed that line Dean had engraved on his heart in indelible ink – and no matter what else it cost him, whatever bill he felt he owed her to pay … there was no way he'd stand by, as long as he had breath to stand, and let her harm Sam. In his world of Weird Winchester truths, Dean was the most constant. Sam often feared that whilst Dean's bond with him had been a crucial saving grace in his life, his own contribution to that relationship would one day be his brother's undoing. As fearsome as Ruth's thirst for vengeance was, Dean's sense of loyalty to his family … to Sam; would take the eldest Winchester to far more terrifying places. Sam almost felt sorry for the undeniably tormented little girl's spirit – that was until he looked in to his brother's wasted, bloodshot eyes and knew with certainty, if he had the means right now – that little bitch would be smoke and ashes.

The room was filled with – crazies. In all his years on the force nothing had prepared Graham Henley for the events unfolding around him. The return of the Winchester kids, the lies (heaven help him – outright lies!) of the Pastor covering for the elder of those two punks… the one who'd led his little Angel astray, the threatening looking bald guy who glared at him like he was still debating if he was playing the right odds in letting Henley live … it was all just so messed up. Henley knew it was not due to his usual self medicating habits – he had toned that down… ironically now, as it seemed today was a day designed for getting plastered.

The oddest thing for Henley, was that, the part of all this Freak show that should have had him running for the hills – the apparent resurrection (in spirit anyway) of his little, long dead Ruth – was the very thing giving him the most comfort. She had found her way back to him. She was pissed as hell at Winchester and his ghoulish friends – that must be why she wore that look of disgust. But by some miracle she had found her way back to him… all those times he had shaken off that familiar feeling, it **had **been her, and now his clever girl was here with him, speaking to him, asking his opinion like the dutiful daughter she was. How he had prayed for this chance to explain to her – and now it appeared he didn't need it at all. An almost euphoric sense descended on him. He couldn't fully grasp what she was saying – that was not helped by the aftermath of being assaulted by Winchester's bald goon, whose ass he was so going to kick. But with genuine pride he gazed at his little darling once more – tuning in to what was going on as best he could; he sighed blissfully as he watched his child float towards him.

Dean could not get past how blown to hell all this was. His attempt to handle his own business without dragging anyone else into his own private filth had gone severely wrong – it was the Mother of all Fuck up's, and it was his fault. How many times in his life was he going to have to learn this lesson the hard way – falter… fail to act …. And you just plain _**fail**_. He had every intention of fulfilling his promise to Ruth – as much of a wedge as it would drive down his throat; he knew Sam would never understand … How could he, he had no idea of the depraved depths Ruth would go to, to see her version of justice done. After the guilt he felt his soul mired in over the past few days, what was a little of that bastards blood on his hands?! The only real claim to humanity that depraved piece of shit had, was scoring the same number of chromosomes as the rest of the race. But now Dean realized that Ruth could not stop there.

On his way here to "summon" her Father to his trap, he had made a pit stop. She had been so assured of his utter compliance that she had left him alone. He winced as his grip tightened on her bible – her trust in him may yet be her downfall … again. His intention had been some last minute recon to sure up his plans for her Father's overdue demise, instead he found, near her old man's bed, the one thing that had evaded Sam and the other Hunter's in their attempts to help him. The permanent solution – the means of ending Ruth's afterlife. The Hunter in him had taken it almost subconsciously – though he had no intention of ever using it for his own self preservation. Yet here he was holding the last string that tied Ruth here. Funny how only in his line of work could a precious thing of love and remembrance be turned into a weapon of annihilation. Funnier still – he actually did laugh out loud, adding to the impression of crazy he was certain he was leaving on his nearest and dearest- that in the process of protecting Sam he was also protecting the bad guy. This was not his intention either – but he had no choice.

Taking a last deep breath, he wished he could force some kind of a convincing stance from his body – but he had to make do, and move fast. He tried to get her attention again as she moved towards her prone Father with all the grace of a hungry cat eyeing the Tweedy bird.

"Ruth – not that I really give a shit what goes down between you and Daddy dearest there – but me and mine are going …."

Her head whipped round at an unforgiving angle that made Dean swallow despite himself. "Not so fast El- Deano. This reckoning you bring with you – on my behalf, as you so eloquently put it to Dad; it's not just for him you know?"

"Actually – I did" he whispered to himself as much as to her, slowly thumbing the small worn book.

She missed the motion, but had stopped in her tracks noting something of a change in him perhaps. "You do see that it's necessary don't you – it's the only way I will find peace Dean – the only way you'll save me."

He smiled at her recklessly, tears pooling brightly in his eyes. "For my part – you know I am always in on any of your harebrained schemes … but the others… I can't…"

"The **H.E.L.L** you say – Dean, you are not going anywhere near that fucking little psychopath - _are you crazy???_" Sam's voice climbed higher than a six year old at a "Hello Kitty" convention.

She blurred her head to Sam, hissing like a snake poised to strike. "I am not going to grieve your passing one iota _runt_."

"Hey – you two … give it a break; it's like a God Damned time warp!!!" Dean's incredulous voice held more strength than he did.

He ground his teeth as he shifted his weight to stay upright. Making a grab for the bar behind him, he knocked the bottle across the countertop. Dimly he registered the grunts of the other two hunters' in the room as they fell to earth with a thump.

"We have covered this Ruth – I pay my debts. But the others – you can't kill enough people to take that feeling away. It won't help you – there is no peace at the end of this road; just more pain. I know – I have walked in your shoes remember? These people – they are my family Ruth, like your Mother, I would give … anything … to keep them safe. I can't let you harm them – I deserve your anger, and my regret, my sorrow won't wash away what I owe you." He let the tears fall haphazardly as he begged for what he prized above all else – even his own existence.

Jim's heart broke – not for the first time, when dealing with the Winchester's. These were his boys – his heart had claimed them as children. He had watched over them with as much pride and trepidation as any biological Father, and hearing Dean plead for all their lives at the price of his own, brought tears to his eyes. It was then that he noticed the book lying on the counter, slowly soaking in the liquid covering the bar. He also noticed a small glinting object in Dean's left hand – the one concealed behind his back, feigning support. Murphy knew the Hail Mary play when he saw it being set up; and Dean was not going to run this one alone. John Winchester might not have answered the call… but Jim would.

"Ruth" Jim called gaining her attention immediately and ignoring the brief look of surprise that crossed Dean's still too pale features.

Jim suppressed his smile – that was Dean, always shocked that there were those willing to stand up for him in return.

"If you are looking to appoint blame for the wrongs that befell you in your life and the shameful aftermath of your death, I know that you must see my part as being far more tainted than Dean's. You would be right."

"Jim" Caleb hissed warningly "We have only just made it back down to earth – we are of no use to him if she puts us _**through **_the next wall!"

The Pastor ignored his fellow hunter as he began to advance towards the fallen Deputy.

Ruth growled at the clergyman, he had always put her on edge. She should have put a more permanent end to his meddling a while back. Too many sides to watch at once … her instincts realized her attention was being divided.

"What are you up to Pastor – you putting in for a promotion with the man upstairs? Save the damned; reserve a Heavenly Condo?!"

A disapproving sound from her Father almost had her laughing – the arrogant fool believed that this was some form of miracle – she could read it in his semi – soused expression.

"Ruthie – I know you are upset baby, but there is no need to talk … you know I was always proud of your gentle ways … so like your Moth…"

"I. AM. NOT. HER.!!!!" Her scream rebounded off the walls forcing all five men to grab their ears. "Even now your twisted version of faith has you being rewarded for beating nine bells out of your own family doesn't it – you sick fuc…"

"Ruth!" His voice was strangled – as if he'd just heard profanity from the lips of his favorite Saint.

She snarled as she advanced on him, unable to contain the need for his blood anymore. Dean and his self righteous Hunters could do their worst, but they would not deny her what was hers by **right **… her vengeance.

Dean watched with a sinking feeling in his heart as Jim moved closer to what would soon become Ruth's hunting ground – the Pastor was too close to Deputy Henley. His hand was being forced again – he was too late, always too late. He used the last of his reserves of strength to twist just enough to strike the lighter and throw it at the alcohol soaked book. His final clear picture was of the last possession of Ruth Henley. Her most prized treasure- going up in smoke. The small entwined braid of hers and her mother's hair, tied in a yellow ribbon, peeked out from inside the Bible, catching fire and igniting quickly. It was accompanied by a young shrieking voice. The last protest of the only friend Dean had ever had, outside the world of hunting – and a searingly vivid reminder why, he had never… would never… allow that to happen again. Unconsciousness was one of the few blessings that Dean did court, and he let it take him with every inch of his shattered soul as he hit the floor.

Henley's eyes bulged in horror as his Angel's face morphed into that of an ill begotten Devil. Her claws – yes definitely claws – bearing openly towards him. She charged him screeching foul curses and accusations – but didn't get very far. Her face became contorted with pain and mixed with terror and then she … burned. Henley was on his feet in an instant – moving faster than he thought possible, he made his way towards her burning figure. For her part, Ruth though screaming in agony reached out and laid claim to what she had felt was hers all along – her Fathers throat.

Both Jim and Caleb took a step backward as the fire seemed to burn brighter consuming both the figures in its centre. The ghostly fire did not burn away the living, the same way it eradicated spirits. It did however leave in its wake another corpse. The elder hunters stood over Henley's lifeless body and wide horrified vacant eyes.

" I pray there is no peace where he is heading" Jim uttered fiercely, drawing a shocked look from Caleb, even as the hunter was summoned to Dean's side by Sam's worried call.

Jim found himself feeling terribly cold inside – but for the first time in many years his hunter's instinct had taken the lead and was already forming cover stories for the boys. Henley had taught him something… other than shame. The deputy had taught him that evil existed in the normal world too – and that it was not above using all the loopholes at its disposal. Jim was damned if he was going to enable that type of get out clause again.

* * *

Dean slept solidly for two days, with his three guardians watching over him. Brolin had monitored him closely, concerned that the Supernatural assault might have left some lasting damage. Jim prayed by his bedside – keeping his vigil between his duties in the Parish and the pretence he had sold Sheriff Takins. The fabric of lies was ably supported by the townsfolk's guilt at the posthumous discoveries of exactly what Deputy Henley was able to get away with right under their noses. Sam talked. He talked constantly feeling the need to keep Dean linked to this world – to him, in case his brother had other ideas. He had been shocked to his core, that his rock solid brother had actually been contemplating serving himself up to Ruth Henley's insatiable appetite for vengeance. He had not mis-heard Dean would have let her take her pound of flesh – his flesh. So Sam kept talking to ensure that his brother was in **no** confusion as to which direction home was in. He was certain Dean must have heard some of it – what he hoped was that Dean didn't sense when Sam's words spilled over and rained down his cheeks –

_How could you think of leaving me like that Dean?_

When Dean had finally awoken, it was to the sound of a text from his Father. Co-ordinates and something about "re-engaging the fight". It had Jim leaving the room with a little blasphemous aside, Caleb exploding volcanically and Sam grabbing the phone and tossing it out the second storey window. All of which made little difference to Dean's seemingly in-breed compliance with his Father's wishes as he got out of bed, a little hesitantly, and headed for the shower.

Two hours – and a few low key fallouts- later Dean was getting dressed in the boys room and Caleb took the seat nest to Sam to wait.

"I have already gone through this with him Sam – but now I am going to talk to the half of the Hardy boys with the common sense. He needs to rest – spirit possession is not like getting over the sniffles and that was one Supernatural smack down that he … barely made it through alive. I have no AMA papers to give that stubborn bastard, but I can't keep him hostage on my own … What'd a say Sam… still got that iron tight slip knot?"

Sam gave Caleb a pained look. "You are preaching to the choir here Doc. My whining was apparently as effective as the "good stuff" you dish out, in getting him some sleep! I want nothing more than to tell Dad where he can plot the co-ordinates for this next job … you did **tell** your leader his **SON** almost died back there right?!"

Caleb flinched. His own objections had been far less polite and had fallen un-heeded on John's ears. He opted not to share his disgust with Sam; the kid didn't need anymore gunpowder for that particular showdown.

"Look Sam, I know that Dean and I both graduated the John Winchester School of hunting – but I am worried about your brother. Your Father is … wrong on this one, if Dean keeps burying things the way John seems to expect him to – he will end up in the ground. You have more of your brother's respect than you realize …"

"Oh right – the turn-tail of the Winchester family is going to lecture the class Valedictorian on what will sustain him on the never ending road of Hunting?!"

The pale figure beside him looked angrier than Sam had ever recalled seeing him. "You know taking a stand and choosing Stanford was not your mistake Sam …. Abandoning your brother to pick up the pieces – that's where your guilt stems from. Be as pissed at Daddy as you want – but for Christ sake, man up - and take it out on him and not Dean, Sam!"

"Oh really – Butch, you plan on helping with some direction there … how about which rock _exactly_ my Dad has hidden himself under?"

The door to the nearest bedroom slammed open and Jim strode out regarding them both sternly.

"Gentleman – I am sure you will appreciate that it is hard to corroborate a convincing cover story when one of the two main protagonists – who was supposed to have skipped town suddenly - is yelling in the background like a Wall Street Stockbroker?!"

Caleb smirked broadly into his hand. But the Pastor was not done yet, he rounded on the elder hunter.

"And you don't even exist son – how do you propose I explain to Sheriff Takins that the voices in my head are so clearly audible?!!"

"Easy Pastor Jim – just tell him that your only vice is watching 'Joanie Loves Chachie' re-runs – and you cranked the volume because you couldn't bear to miss your shows?!!" Dean's voice held almost a full measure of his old self as he entered the room.

Jim was not as convinced once he looked the young hunter over. Dean was still far too washed out, and the fact that he had left the bags on the bed for Sam to fetch, bore testament to the fact that his strength was way below par.

"I have my secondary post at Blue Earth Minnesota – the other priest there is a good friend of mine and knows how to keep his mouth shut. It's a great place to wind down Dean. Maybe you and Sam would consider…"

"Turning tail and running? Nothing personal Padre but – I think I need to get back in the saddle, Dad's right I …"

He was momentarily distracted by three sets of eye rolls of differing subtlety. Sighing heavily he looked around him at the three people he trusted most in the world (aside from Dad) and decided that for once he was going to level with them… it was the least he owed them.

"I – uh know you are all worried … and not just about the bitch slapping I took back there. The fact that I was going to help R – her out probably makes your skin crawl." He laughed thinly but never once looked up, his voice quivered and his throat constricted but he forced himself to go on. "I can't say it's something I am fine with either – looking myself in the eye in the mirror, has never been so hard. I just… wanted you all to know that I would **never** have chosen her over any of you… I knew what I was doing was wrong, and I never wanted any of it spilling on to you."

He dared to glance up briefly, as all was so quiet that he thought they had left the room and left him to it, not that he would blame them considering the Chick Flick moment of epic proportions he was playing out here. All three men stood solemnly watching him, he was sure Sammy was holding his breath. Sighing he rounded the last base.

" I need to go back to work … I need to stay in the game or all these … doubts … are going to drown me … I will be of no use to any of you. I fucked things up royally …it won't happen again … sorry."

He frowned heavily at the floor in the moments after, that seemed to stretch a lifetime, just waiting for … something. Absolution… an ass-kicking – whichever. But what came was utterly unexpected. He was grabbed in a rough embrace that knocked the winds from his sails. Jim's warm scent invaded his personal space for seconds – anything longer would have breeched Winchester etiquette as the Pastor knew full well. Dean found himself closing his eyes; needing and repelling the contact at the same time. When it was done he glanced up flush faced to see only Caleb standing in front of him, pointedly looking away and swatting fiercely at his eyes. Sam had exited the room, which sent a surge of panic through Dean's vein's, until his freakishly tall little brother re-entered Jim's living room both sets of bags slung over his shoulders and a classic Dean grin on his face.

He said simply "I got you Bro – ready to roll?"

And that was it. Mercifully, after Dean had not just spilled his guts, but bleed them out like a participant in some touchy feely group therapy session, there had been no demands for further explanations, enforced downtime or Medical trials from Doctor Feel good. All three witnesses to Dean's girly moment silently consented to forgive him, and give him exactly what he wanted the most – his life back.

* * *

As Sam drove them away from Pastor Jim's, Dean gave a farewell salute to the Pastor and Brolin. Looking out the windscreen he marveled at the beauty of the morning – something that was not even on his radar as he drove usually. He could see why Sammy sometimes tuned out. Sunlight signaled the beginning and the end for a "day" in the life of a hunter. The end of the hunt – but the beginning of counting the cost. Sneaking a last look at the two men who still stood at the door way watching their backs as they drove away; Dean counted himself lucky.


End file.
